


The Winchester Gospel - Non Timebo Mala

by Furorscribiendi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 'blink-and-miss-it' Dean/Sam and Lucifer/Meg, Gen, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:10:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 76,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Furorscribiendi/pseuds/Furorscribiendi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost three centuries have come and gone since the Apocalypse came and went. Humanity survived, as did the things that preyed on them, and the world has changed. And, as it always is in these tales, it started one night with a boy and a girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the inaugural pictures2words challenge on LJ. I'm surprised I haven't seen more post-Apocalyptic fic with a similar premise. Maybe I'm looking in the wrong places. I've only just discovered apocabigbang thanks to lightthesparks. And obviously my brain needs to stop spitting out these monster-length fics. Nay, BEHEMOTH-length. T____T
> 
> Also, there is a slew of goodies that are lurking here at the master post: http://furor-scribiend.livejournal.com/151638.html.

It felt as if a part of the world had been sleeping. As if, after all this time, it decided that it was ready to wake from slumber and see what had happened. The only problem was whatever awoke wasn’t something that had the best of intentions. It had started at the beginning of winter, as everyone was hunkering down to brave out the snow and the cold that came by mid-December. The horses and cows were her responsibility, making sure they were safe and nothing happened to them. So when she went out in the morning to the barn, and saw drops of blood on the floor of a cow’s stall, she checked the rest of them and then the horses.

What she found prompted her to sleep in the barn hayloft the next night. Far as she knew, cows and horses didn’t go around biting one another on the leg or, in a few cases, leaving bloody gashes in other random spots on an animal’s body.

The first answer came by mid-December after the first snowfall. She’d retrieved her makhaira from the house before and went back to the barn, bunking down in the hayloft. It had been the scratching at the side of the barn that woke her. She quickly crawled to the edge of the loft, to catch a glimpse of what had been making a snack out of the family cows’ and horses’ blood.

She didn’t even know how to begin to describe what she saw. It emerged from a hay pile by the securely locked barn door. It was scuttling along the ground on all fours, eyes reddish and _glowing_ of all things. It made a direct beeline for the nearest cow’s stall. The sound it made was low and guttural, a vocalisation that sounded like ‘pabra’ or something else. All she knew was that when she quietly stepped down the ladder, it had been an easy task to flush it out of the cow’s stall, use her foot to break its spine and then stab it through the chest.

The thing vaguely resembled a dog, but that was the closest thing she could identify it to. After the cows had been milked, animals fed and given water from the well, the next morning found her finding a hammer and some precious nails. She saddled up her horse, Zeppelin, and following the creature’s trail to the forest through the dusting of snow. Whatever that thing was, it had been nailed up to a tree to warn off anything else like it.

She had considered the matter resolved and done. About a week later, she discovered that she was wrong and that the culprit this time was something else entirely.

Whatever was still feeding off the animal blood, it had gotten smarter, hiding the gashes in large folds of skin. It also didn’t help that it was picking the animals that were brown or black. She had hidden in the loft watching for almost a week. When she heard a small creak in the dead of night, she’d drawn her kabar knife and crawled to the edge of the loft to look once more. She watched as something human-shaped worked a window open and climbed into the barn. That was when she saw red; someone was coming in here and dared to attack their animals, their livelihoods? All she knew was that person would answer by compulsion of her knife blade. She’d moved, vaulting herself on to the ladder and sliding down, gripping the smooth sides with the flat of the knife gripped in her teeth.

That spooked the intruder and they were out the window quick. She didn’t waste time, running to the barn door and yanking on the rope to the side. The pulley bar closing the door flew up with a bang and she ran out into the cold night. Thankfully, the night was clear and there was some moonlight. She could see a figure starting to bolt across their fallow fields. Snarling, she released the knife from her mouth, hefted the handle of it and threw hard. A few seconds later she knew it hit true because she heard a sound that raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

The shriek of pain that echoed out in the night had sounded almost feral. Whatever had been sneaking into their barn wasn’t completely human.

Still high from her anger, she started across the fields, meaning to give chase. But when she approached her knife, she stopped in worried puzzlement. A glance up proved that her hesitation at this spot cost her the intruder. There was no sight of them. But there on the snowy ground lay her blood-covered knife. The snow was disturbed, churned up. She crouched down, peering at it in the faint moonlight. It looked like when her knife had hit, it caught them in the leg and sent them sprawling.

She’d picked up her blade, studying it through her fogging breath. The blood didn’t have the bright red sheen of something freshly drawn. It looked dark red, too dark red, like it was something old and stagnant. When she brought the blade to her nose and sniffed, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. Fuck, it even _smelled_ old. This was not right. Scowling, she cleaned her knife blade off with handfuls of snow. And that was how she spotted the teeth. She had almost covered them with a handful of pink snow. There were four of them, but no blood surrounding them. Whatever this thing was, maybe it already had loosened teeth from scurvy? Or were the teeth supposed to come out?

That was something she hadn’t wanted to consider. She quickly dried her knife on her pants before sliding it back into its leather holster. She grabbed the teeth and jogged back to the barn. And there in the loft, by the lamplight, she studied them. They had a root, much like the teeth she had lost when she was six years old. But that was where the resemblance ended. The rest of the tooth was long and curved down to a sharp point. That was something that could easily pierce skin. Looking around, she grabbed an old rag and wrapped the teeth in it before shoving it in her pants pocket.

Later on that day, after yet another failed attempt at dinner and her mother taking over, she finally got her answer from the small family library. It could not be said that the Kozel family let their children grow up ignorant of the world, of the history of the world. Especially of the great Croatoan Plague, the Cataclysm, that swept the world. After finally getting her siblings to leave her in peace, she found her answer in, of all places, a mythology book. That was not something she was expecting.

When she saw the illustration, she’d glanced around to make sure no one else was there. Then she’d pulled the teeth from her pocket and compared them. Between that, the teeth and the cow and horse blood she’d found spilled she could only draw one conclusion: vampire.

A fucking _vampire_ had been stealing into their barn and feeding on their animals. She briefly considered telling her parents this, what she had run off in the night. But she knew the moment the word ‘vampire’ left her mouth, her father and mother would have worried she was reading the historical and mythology books too much. Her younger siblings would have just ridiculed her.

And so, when her brother Elijah had fetched her for dinner, she casually stuffed the re-wrapped teeth into her pocket, went down and kept her mouth shut. It was the one time during dinner that she didn’t open her mouth to talk, just eating. The only people who seemed to take note of that were her grandparents, asking if everything was all right. She had assured them that everything was fine.

That very same night before heading over to the barn, she retrieved her other blades except her sword. The next stop had been the family library again. Only this time, she picked out a book she hadn’t gotten around to reading: the Gospels of Chuck, otherwise known as the Winchester Gospels. For a long moment, she’d stared at the sombre black leather cover with the embossed title and the smaller Latinate underneath reading, ‘non timebo mala.’ Then she’d given her head a quick shake and headed out to the barn, grabbing her lamp along the way. There might still be vampires and God knew what else out there, but she’d do what she needed to do here.

Christmas had seemed like a surreal thing, like something viewed through a window. The family a few miles down the road, the Winchesters, had come over to celebrate. The entire day felt like she was seeing such joy and happiness and she couldn’t help but wonder what else was lurking out there in the world that could snatch it away. Michael, the Winchesters’ oldest boy and her best friend, seemed to be the only one who noticed her distraction. Then again, she could fart and he’d come running over asking if she had the stomach gripes and offer to make her tea. Michael always noticed the small things that others overlooked.

She figured Michael didn’t miss the fact that she was carrying the Winchester Gospels around in her inner jacket pocket.

When the Winchesters left at the start of 2300, she had been relieved. Michael had been studying her with that intent blue-eyed gaze of his, like he could puzzle her out if he studied her long enough. He was her best friend, but he would never believe that she’d killed something that looked like a dog and injured a vampire.

After Christmas she took her time, reading the book over the course of a week. When she was done, she felt as if she had experienced an epiphany from those pages of gospel. It was all laid out there, plain as day for everyone to see. The things Dean and Sam Winchester had gone through, and done, right up until the bitter end. She felt assured and validated when she’d finished reading it. Vampires were real and she wasn’t crazy.

There had been a certain peace that came with knowing that, but restlessness as well. It took her three days in the family library before she identified what made that first incursion into the barn: a chupacabra. It only took her another week to reread every mythology book. She’d also pressed her younger sister, Ruth, into learning about the cows and horses and how to take care of them. It soon didn’t become unusual for Ruth to spend the nights with her in the barn, keeping an eye out on the animals. Her middle brother, Luke, hadn’t been too thrilled but agreed that it was time that Ruth started taking a more active role in the household.

So it wasn’t until the end of the month that she realised that she was amassing things in the barn hayloft. A coil of rope here, her portable lamp with extra tallow candles… she counted herself lucky that Ruth didn’t notice it. Her blades were just in sight, but had the addition of her knuckledusters, given to her by her other grandfather a year before he died while hunting game. Her small cache of things was what eventually betrayed her. But it wasn’t Ruth.

It had been Luke, determined to find out why his big sister had been acting differently. She’d come in at breakfast time one morning and afterwards her parents took her into her father’s study. They were concerned they said, and just wanted what was best for her. Swayed, she pushed aside her reluctance and told them of what had happened in December. And just as she knew would happen, her parents started voicing concern that maybe, just maybe, she should stop reading all those mythology books and just focus on taking care of the animals and showing Ruth how. After all things that were myths were just that: a myth and something that didn’t exist. Even the Gospels of Chuck weren’t to be taken seriously. They were written only three hundred years ago, after all.

She just nodded her head and went about her chores for the day. Only now, she couldn’t shake the idea that if this had happened to her, surely there must be other people in her situation. But if those people had no idea of what to do or how to defend themselves… what did they do? She read through the Winchester Gospels again that night, and found her answer towards the end. How the Hunters who survived, by the grace of God, established an order, dedicated to fighting supernatural evil. If she recalled correctly, there was an Order of Winchester in the town of Lawrence. That was only fifteen miles from home. She could easily ride Zeppelin there.

When Michael showed up at the barn one day, she had been surprised. But when he said he was there for the week to lend a hand, she was immediately suspicious. This had her parents’ motivation behind it. They knew she’d listen to him. But any time spent with Michael was welcome. For all his quiet, studious ways, she liked him. Michael’s other siblings honestly drove her nuts. Michael had been the most tolerable when she’d been younger.

And for the entire week, Michael didn’t really say a thing. He just helped her with the cows and horses. Since she had an extra set of hands along with Ruth’s, she finished earlier and they’d spend it up in the hayloft, talking and indulging hobbies. Michael, as usual, had his wood Rubik’s cube, the wood and paint worn smooth from years of use. She had her piece of wood, a whittling knife and a growing pile of shavings. While she didn’t really know what she was whittling it just seemed to be taking shape under her fingers. Other days, they’d spar with spare broom handles.

Given the dangerous world they lived in, she couldn’t figure out how some families didn’t teach their children how to use a blade, of multiple kinds, to defend themselves. Her grandfather, Matthew Kozel, had been infamous in the area for his proficiency with both blades and fists. He had been in charge of the martial education she received and excelled at. Michael’s family had put their children through the same training as well.

Well, if Michael thought he had figured out anything, he had figured out _shit_ in her opinion.

February rolled around and the monthly family trip into town for supplies came. They didn’t spend long in Lawrence, probably only two hours. Everyone split up to get what was needed before they headed back. She had to get replacement nails for the ones she’d used plus a few other things for spring to do some basic repairs. Luke would have his hands full with that task. She finished up with her errand and took the long way back to the general store where they were meeting up. The path took her past the Order of Winchester building. It was one of the biggest buildings in Lawrence and built entirely out of stone. Local rumour had it that the Order of Winchester was a little bit paranoid about the potential for buildings burning down.

But walking around down the street, seeing that stone building coming closer and looming taller and taller at three stories… it was a bit awe-inspiring. The doors were solid but when she walked up and pushed them to step inside, they opened silently. Inside the building smelled like pitch, paper and salt.

In some strange way, it felt like she’d arrived at a place she hadn’t even known that she missed.

Her reverie had been broken by a brother telling her to, ‘close the damned door.’ She’d looked up and seen a vexed man hurrying towards her. She half wedged her body in the door and when the man came closer all she asked was, “What else do I have to do to become a Hunter?” That stopped the brother up short. She was sure he never had someone ask him in such a fashion. Then he just looked at her for a moment with narrowed eyes before he snorted and uttered the single word of, “Pilgrimage.”

During the entire freezing ride back home, that word echoed in her head like a clear bell.

So she had started preparing. Two old waterproofed sacks had been dug out from the chest of her things in the room she shared with her siblings. It was promptly stashed in the hayloft in the very back under a pile of hay. She’d be damned if Luke caught and ratted her out again. Rope, the mallet, her knuckledusters and tinderbox went in, plus her weapon supplies. A sharp blade was all well and good, but if one didn’t have the oil and whetstone for it, then it was all but useless and would do more to get you killed than save your life.

After re-reading the Gospels, she found herself sharpening up some stakes and tossing in three flasks from her chest. The salt, precious and expensive, she’d have to buy in the general store first thing before she left Lawrence. Things like her travelling coat and her two thick winter cloaks went into the other sack with a few clean shirts, pants, socks and underwear.

Provisions were the next thing that she had to worry about. Obtaining them was easy. Getting her mom to show her – yet again, after countless times – how to make hard tack, jerky and dried fruits and vegetables had proved the difficult part. The end results were wrapped in a waterproof cloth and stashed in the bag in the loft. Her horse, Zeppelin, got some extra attention before she went to sleep. She rubbed him down in the evenings and in the mornings, he was the last one seen to, always getting a little bit extra feed and water, hooves carefully checked for anything stuck underneath the shoe. The last thing she needed was her gelding going lame.

The last few weeks of February found her watching the skies and tracking the weather patterns. It was still cold, but it was slowly warming up. By the time the first of March approached, she knew the time was coming soon. The days were slowly lengthening and the land itself seemed to be thawing out and throwing off the yoke of winter.

Then, when she had been inspecting the fields yesterday, she knew the time had come. Shoots of weeds and wildflowers were sprouting up, covering the fields in green fuzz. There was still some snow on the ground, but it was time to leave. Spring runoffs would soon come and if she could cross the large creek that ran just to the west of Lawrence before it swelled then there was no chance that her parents could drag her back kicking and screaming.

And that was how she’d reached this point on an early spring day or rather, night. It was why she was now dressing by the light of the full moon coming in through the window in the hayloft. Her sacks had already been stashed down in Zeppelin’s stall. The saddle, bit and reins were there as well, hanging on their respective hooks. All she had to do was get dressed, pack up the things as quietly as possible and leave.

The only regret that she had was that she was leaving like this in the dead of night. But she knew that if she tried to tell her parents, they’d put their foot down and try to put an end to her ‘delusions.’ Yeah, that would happen over her cold, dead body. She quickly stuffed her shirt into her pants before zipping them up and tossing on a sweater.

Strapping on her daggers and sword was easy. In less than five minutes she was armed and when she tossed on her travelling coat, her sword was the only visible blade. She almost couldn’t wait for some idiot to try and rob her. They’d get a quick taste of her makhaira and regret trying to pick on a girl.

Her boots were the last thing. Shiny and practically smelling new, she had bought them for herself last year with the money she had saved from her portion of the dairy proceeds from town sales. This journey would absolutely wreck them. But they were thick soled, sturdy and made of fine leather. Hopefully, her conclusion would be proven wrong.

Dressed now, the last thing she did was to pull a piece of paper from her inner jacket pocket and replace it with the copy of the Winchester Gospels. If her parents figured it was all mythological bullshit, then they certainly didn’t need this book. This would be her guide on the road. It was all prepared in its own waterproof wrapping. March was usually nothing but rain anyhow. She paused, thinking for a moment, before she grabbed the two apples by the lamp. Ruth was forever bringing snacks with her in case she wanted something to eat at night. The kid wouldn’t miss two of the formerly four apples in her sleepiness. Tucking them into her jacket pocket, she slowly walked over to the ladder. When she swung herself on, she paused and placed the paper in front of the ladder. Ruth would find it in the morning and go running to her parents in a panic.

She’d be long gone by then. The note had been purposefully vague. It might take her parents a bit to puzzle out what she meant by, “Please don’t follow me. Just give me some time.” And that time would be what she needed.

She quickly went down the ladder and walked to Zeppelin’s stall. He nickered softly when he spotted her and she rubbed his nose for a bit with a smile before she opened the stall door and slipped in. Saddling him up didn’t take long and she was thankful she had planned ahead. Otherwise, who knew how heavy the two sacks would have been. At the moment, they probably weighed ten pounds together. She slid the bit on, then the bridle, making sure it was comfortable before she grabbed the spare coil of rope on a hook and stepped out. Zeppelin followed her, the bits of hay scattered on the floor muffling the sound of his hooves against the hard-packed dirt further. She slowly led him to the barn door, pulling on the bar rope just enough to slip it out from its rungs. The door swung in and she pushed it open a bit more, leading her horse out. She paused long enough to make a noose and loop it on the rung inside. Then she closed door and tied the rope loosely to one of the handles on the barn door. Ruth would still be able to get out easily come morning.

The walk away from the farm didn’t take her long, five minutes to get out of earshot. She didn’t want the jangling of her stirrups to wake someone. Zeppelin snorted when they paused, his fogging breath seeming annoyed.

“Yeah well,” she mumbled as she reached in her pocket. “It’s you and me now buddy, so just remember who controls the treats.”

She held out the apple and Zeppelin’s lips and tongue made it disappear into his mouth in quick order. With a chuckle, she mounted up. A gentle squeeze from her legs and Zeppelin started walking down the road. A glance up at the moon proved that it was the dead of night. The luminous orb was just past its zenith. She’d pop in at the Order of Winchester building, see if she could buy some salt and continue on her way.

The night was fairly quiet for once, save the hoots of owls and the scuffle of various creatures in the undergrowth. She glanced at it and was very thankful that she didn’t have to go through the forest. Her eyes turned back to the road, making sure nothing sprang out at them.

The only thing she hadn’t anticipated was passing by the Winchester place. There were no lights on, but it looked like a lamp was flickering in the barn. At least that’s what it looked like through the tiny window. She pressed her knees against Zeppelin’s flanks and he broke into a trot. Whoever was in the barn, the last thing she needed was for someone to come out and wonder who the hell was travelling alone at night. She had only made it past the house with the grove of aspen trees in the back when she heard the jangle of a bit and harness. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Maybe if she just kept on and didn’t look back –

“Joanna Ashtoreth Kozel, you have no shame. Your family is going to worry.”

The words were pitched low, but in the absence of a noisy night forest, they carried to her hearing clearly. A grimace came to her face as she stopped Zeppelin. She could not believe him, she could _not_ believe that he had the damned gall to, firstly, call her by her full name. She loathed that. And secondly, he was trying to stop her.

“It’s Ash.” She bit out as she turned Zeppelin around to face Michael. “And I left a note.”

Sure enough, there he sat on his horse, bundled up against the cold and with a hat perched on his head. She glared at him. There he sat, looking relaxed and comfortable, ruining her plan.

“Oh?” Michael brought his own horse, Impala, closer. “I could think of a few other words to call you.”

Ash gritted her teeth together. She wasn’t about to wait around to get discovered because Michael got his damned girly panties in a knot. She turned Zeppelin around and got him trotting again before she called over her shoulder, “Go back home, Michael.”

For a second, just for a second, she thought Michael had listened to her and went back. But then she heard the jangle of a bit and bridle again and a number of profanities ran through her head. The damned fool wasn’t listening. When he drew up beside her, her hands tightened around the reins.

“Are you deaf? I said –”

“I’m not letting you run off alone to become a Hunter.”

His words were like a butcher’s cleaver going right to the bone. Damn, he had figured it out. But she hadn’t seen him since that week in February. How did he know she was leaving tonight? She didn’t look at him, keeping her eyes on the road. Maybe it was all just bravado and as soon as they hit Lawrence, he’d change his mind. She ignored the nagging voice of her conscience telling her that just might not happen.

Silence fell and Ash let it be. There was no way in hell she wanted to talk to Michael at the moment. If he was so set on this, fine, be it on his head. She gave him a week before he bolted. He was used to being outdoors and such for long periods, but when he heard she was planning on doing the pilgrimage, he’d think twice and come back home. Michael was, if anything, a creature of habit. He had his books and accounting for the Winchester finances. He’d be back within a week.

When something rested gently on her head, she looked over to find Michael’s arm casually stretched out, settling something on her head. She snatched it off with a scowl and looked at it. It was a hat, almost like his. Wide-brimmed and weather-beaten, it looked vaguely familiar. After a moment, she sniffed and glanced at him.

“This Silvanus’ hat?”

Michael just shrugged. “He won’t miss it. He had it buried at the bottom of his trunk. I left him its value just in case however.”

There was no denying that. Whenever she had been over at the Winchester household, it seemed like Silvanus was forever misplacing his stuff. Silvanus’ twin, Jael, was on top of it though always knowing where it was. Ash wondered what that girl would do when the hat couldn’t be found. Huffing, she plunked it back on her head and adjusted it one handed before picking up the loose rein again.

“I won’t lose his hat.” She said simply.

Michael didn’t reply to that. The rest of the ride into Lawrence was silent. It kind of infuriated Ash more that Michael seemed unruffled by the whole thing. No, Michael had to take everything in stride with that damned logical mind of his. When they got to the Order of Winchester building, the moon was approaching its setting descent. Ash figured they maybe had an hour left of darkness before the sky started lightening and dawn came. Michael quickly figured out where the stables were and they left their horses in the care of a grizzled looking groom.

The Order building was a welcome relief after the cold of outside. It seemed like the cold had worked its way into her bones and was trying to stay. But the stone building was warm and cozy. When they came across a pair of sisters, who seemed to be patrolling, Ash quickly asked if there was someone in charge. The sister nodded her head while the other one on the left broke away, telling them to follow.

Finding the abbot didn’t take very long. He was in the library, looking over some texts. The sister got his attention and when he looked at her and Michael, saw their travelling clothes, understanding came to his eyes. The sister left without a word and the abbot asked them to follow. As they followed the abbot, Ash glanced over at Michael; unruffled and looking like he needed a shave again. Michael always seemed to be sporting a light five o’clock shadow. Hell, she’d watched him shave one morning and then by about two, there was the shadow, plain as you please, as if it just couldn’t stay away from his face.

A tiny sepulchre of some kind was their final stop. It looked like it was barely big enough to hold five people. There were two pedestals with shallow bowls at the front of the room. The abbot walked in front of them and motioned for them to come before him. Ash looked over at Michael and curled her lip into a small smile before she stepped forward. Michael was right behind her.

“I need you both to kneel.” The abbot said as he adjusted his robe.

Ash didn’t even think twice as she sank to one knee, resting crossed arms on the other raised knee and her head bowed. After a few seconds, she heard the rustle of cloth that told her Michael did the same. The abbot gave a heavy sigh before he started talking in Latin. Oh, if her mother could see her now, fully understanding the words coming out of the abbot’s mouth, her father would have been made to eat crow. Her mother made damn sure that her children knew the classic languages.

The abbot asked God and Christ to watch over them during their pilgrimage and to ensure no evil befell them. They were his warriors here on Earth after all, protecting the innocent. He asked that God make them fully capable of vanquishing the evil that still slept and lurked in the darkness of the night, to the best of their abilities and to see them safely to the pilgrimage’s end. There came the sound of rustling cloth and dripping liquid before the priest turned to her.

Her head was raised, the hat pushed back a bit and the cross anointed on her brow with fragrant oil. The abbot did this with the barely heard mumur of ‘Christo’. Then the abbot took a wooden cup and dipped it into the second pedestal bowl. Drops of clear liquid fell from the side and next thing she knew holy water was sliding down her throat. She swallowed it and bowed her head again. The abbot rested his hands on their heads before reciting the Lord’s Prayer, in Latin. Then he patted them on the shoulders.

“All right, Shiloh is your next stop. It’s about ten days travel from here, give or take. Now, off you go.”

Ash smiled and nodded her head before rising to her feet. But Michael knelt there for a bit, staring at the abbot. She wondered what had happened to make Michael feel off-kilter but then…

“That’s it?” Michael sounded honestly surprised.

“Yes. What, did you want, a send-off party? It’s a pilgrimage blessing,” the abbot shook his head. “Not everything has to have a fancy end. Christ, young people.”

That seemed to make Michael jump to his feet and mumble a hasty apology. The abbot waved it off and shooed them out of the sepulchre before heading down the hallway at a brisk pace. Ash wasn’t bothered by what could be construed as an abrupt end to a ritual. Michael, on the other hand, watched the abbot walk away for a moment before turning to her.

“Uh, do you recall the way out?” he looked thoroughly confused.

Ash clapped him on the shoulder and started walking. “The only kind of idiot who doesn’t know how to get out of a strange building, is a dead idiot. I landmarked as we were guided.”

She unerringly guided them back to the stables where the grizzled groom fetched their horses for them. Then they were back out in the cold, breath fogging and the brief warmth leaching from their bones. Getting to the large creek only took them about an hour. They got there just as the greying sky was turning pink and brightening. Just as she had predicted the large creek hadn’t swelled over yet with spring runoff. The single shallow sandbar was quickly crossed and they were on their way to Shiloh. Michael was still silent and it wasn’t until the sun was peeking over the horizon that he spoke.

“Tell me about them.”

Ash spared him a glance as she guided Zeppelin through a patch of rocks. “Them?”

“Yes. Dean and Sam, the Winchesters. Tell me about the Gospel of Chuck, from the beginning.”

“That’s a lot to cover. Those gospels cover about five years.” Ash made a sound of disgust. The ground was just getting rockier. “Okay, time to dismount.”

They stopped their horses and got off, carefully picking their way over the increasingly rocky terrain. Once they cleared it and they were mounted up again and on their way, Michael cleared his throat. Ash rolled her eyes and sighed.

“All right, fine. But I’m sure not starting from the beginning. That’s too much to cover.”

“But if I have questions –”

“Then interrupt and I’ll explain,” Ash rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath. “I’ll start at the beginning of the end.”

__________________________________________________________________________

 _Detroit was not where Sam wanted to be at the moment. Word that Lucifer was in town trying to raise a Horseman, Famine in this particular case, had Castiel claiming there was no time for them to drive and next thing they knew they, and their bags of weapons, were in some motel in downtown Detroit. Dean had stomped off, swearing and saying something about bowel movements and that his baby better be all right when he got back to her._

 _All Sam could think was that this was fucking **Detroit** , the exact place that he didn’t want to come to. Practically everyone was screaming to high heaven that this was where he would say yes to Lucifer. Sam had sat on the bed, elbows resting on his knees and fingers interlinked together. When the door opened with a bang he jumped a bit in surprise. He hadn’t even realized Dean had left._

 _“Well, we’re checked in already. I suppose that’s one thing we can thank Cas for. But I swear to God, if his whammy means I don’t poop for a week or more…” Dean trailed off shaking his head with a grim look. After a moment, he looked back to Sam. “What’s with you?”_

 _Sam wished he didn’t feel nervous and strung out, like a piano wire waiting to snap. “We’re in Detroit.”_

 _Realisation dawned in Dean’s eyes. After a moment, Dean rubbed at his chin before sitting down on the other bed. Then Dean ran a hand through his hair before looking at Sam intently. “Then I say we stop Lucifer right in his damned tracks and hightail it out of here. I mean, we’re still tracking that lead.”_

 _“Right,” Sam nodded his head absently. Before Castiel brought them here they’d been tracking rumours of an actual angel sword, almost like the blade that Castiel had used to kill his fellow brothers when he rescued Dean and Sam from Zachariah’s… persuasion tactics. Sam looked at Dean and just levelled with him. “I really don’t want to be here.”_

 _“All right, Sammy. We’ll knock out this one and then hightail it out of here,” Dean sighed and rubbed his face. “Any bet that dick Zachariah did something to make Cas bring us here so fast.”_

 _That was something Sam could agree on. Castiel had looked more jittery than usual. Not that the angel gave them a chance to get to the bottom of it. Sam rose to his feet. “Might as well try to get some sleep tonight. We can start fresh in the morning.”_

 _“Sounds good because I’m whipped.” Dean stretched. “All right, let’s –”_

 _“I got it,” Sam said as he reached in his weapon bag and pulled out the salt. “You get to bed.”_

 _Dean blinked and then after a moment, “You sure you – ”_

 _“I’m fine Dean.” Sam turned away and started towards the window, pouring out salt lines._

 _There was a noticeable silence from Dean before his brother started towards the bathroom. Sam just focused on laying down the salt – he was not impressed that their hotel room had a ventilation duct that was big enough for a person to crawl through – and spray painting a Devil’s Trap under the large mat at the door. When he was finally done and rubbing away the orange spray paint from his fingertips, Dean was out of the shower and had crawled into bed already._

 _He must have been more tired than he let on because when Sam walked over and peered at his face it was already slack with sleep. The drool was a good clue as well. Sam set about cleaning their weapons and making sure they were ready. By the time he was done with that it was just after midnight._

 _Sam still couldn’t sleep and he was pretty sure he didn’t want to._

 _He stretched out on the couch and watched television with the volume on low. He tried to fight the sleep, he really did. But it did its stealthy work on him. One moment, he’s watching yet another infomercial for that stupid Slap Chopper thing and the next thing he knows, he’s sitting up in a bed and Lucifer is standing there by the bedside._

 _Lucifer’s vessel looked rough, with large patches of skin peeling and slightly darker spots proclaiming what has healed over. Sam scrambled out of the bed, as if the expanse of about four feet of mattress could prevent Lucifer from doing God knew what._

 _“Sam, Sam, Sam,” Lucifer said, his voice patient. “And here I thought you didn’t want to come to Detroit.”_

 _“Yeah, well.” And that was all Sam was willing to offer by the way of an explanation._

 _Lucifer nodded his head as if he understood. And then, “Should I even bother with the preamble? I mean, we both know why I’m here.”_

 _“No,” Sam gritted his teeth and shifted his stance, “And my answer is still no.”_

 _“I see. Well, it can’t be said that I didn’t try. I suspect Dean will be more… amenable.”_

 _Never in a million years could Sam have said that he was expecting those words to come from Lucifer’s mouth. “What? You can’t possess Dean, I’m your vessel!”_

 _Lucifer chuckled, low and amused. “Oh, that’s what heaven told you, right? Dean’s the Michael Sword, Dean’s supposed to kill me and end the Apocalypse. I wish I wasn’t the one to tell you this, Sam, but Heaven is lying to you.”_

 _This was not how Sam’s conversations with Lucifer usually went. “What do you mean?”_

 _“Well,” Lucifer slowly turned his body and started walking around the bed towards Sam. “Vessels for archangels are rare, few and far between. I had to be a bit more proactive in making mine. But you, Sam, are technically a Sword. That’s Heaven’s spin for a vessel fully capable of holding an archangel. Dean is the best one around, **the** best if you catch my drift. I kind of gave instructions to Azazel on how to create a perfect Sword. However, I wanted a Sword that would give me an edge against Michael. That’s where you come in.”_

 _Sam kept edging back until Lucifer stopped at the foot of the bed. “You mean, Dean and me, we’re both Swords?”_

 _Lucifer nodded his head. “Yes. I would have preferred you, as Nick is practically translucent now,”_

 _Sam couldn’t help but watch as a fresh patch of skin sloughed off from Lucifer’s neck, while the skin on a raw patch above an eyebrow slowly grew over._

 _“But as you’ve refused me and I need a new vessel as soon as possible, I have no choice but to turn to Dean. I expect him to crack within two weeks.”_

 _Lucifer turned and walked away, heading for the motel door. Sam felt sick to his stomach. Of course Lucifer would be able to get Dean to crack. After all those years in Hell, there must be any number of ways Lucifer knew of to make Dean fold. Defeat and anger sat in the back of his throat like a bitter lump and getting in the way of his words but he forced them out anyhow._

 _“I… I … recant.”_

 _Lucifer paused for a moment before he turned and looked back at Sam with a confused expression. “I beg your pardon?”_

 _“Cut the bullshit,” Sam spat out. “You heard me.”_

 _There was a serious look to Lucifer’s face as he walked back, coming right into Sam’s personal space. For a few minutes all Lucifer did was stare at Sam. Then he took a step back._

 _“So, you recant, do you?” Lucifer asked._

 _“Yes, I do,” the words burned as they left Sam’s throat. He’s sure the rest of the words will until he thinks his last. “I recant all my previous responses.”_

 _“Why, Sammy, I like it when you –”_

 _“Don’t you dare call me Sammy,” the amount of venom in his voice surprised even Sam. “Only Dean can call me that.”_

 _Lucifer seemed honestly surprised by it as well. “All right... apparently, it’s too soon for levity.”_

 _And that simple sentence made it all the more galling. It was just proof that Lucifer finally figured out where to apply the pressure to get to Sam. And the kicker was, it was probably all by the book too. But if it had to be him or Dean, he’d much rather it be him. He had to give his brother credit, he truly did. But against Lucifer, the one who probably commanded that he be broken to bring on the Apocalypse…_

 _“So?” Lucifer asked, rocking on his heels. “What’s your new reply?”_

 _The final word Sam ever spoke… he was pretty sure he hated it. “Yes.”_

 _A wide, beatific smile came to Lucifer’s face as Nick’s body literally started dissolving away. And from that ruining mouth came the words of, “You’d better wake up for this.”_

 _With a gasp, Sam did. There were no fuzzy thoughts or blurry vision. Everything was clear and sharp, bathed in a light that was growing stronger by the second. He got up from the couch, feeling some kind of mental pressure build exponentially in his head, as if it was trying to squeeze out his very soul. Sam turned and looked towards the bed._

 _Dean was sitting up and looking at Sam in horror, despair and confusion. Then, Castiel appeared out of nowhere, looking panicked as he grabbed Dean, hauled him up. Sam tried to say something, that he did it to spare Dean, but the pressure… all he managed to choke out was guttural, animalistic sounds. Then the next thing Sam knew, Castiel and Dean were gone. Just there one second and gone the next. The pressure was still building; the light grew stronger and Sam couldn’t help but feel bitterness, sorrow and regret. The last memory that Dean would ever have of him was that of his brother caving and saying ‘yes’ to Lucifer. Of being possessed by the Devil._

 _The light was almost unbearable, as if it was searing away his retinas and slowly consuming him from the inside out. There was a banging sound coming from somewhere and he vaguely thought it was from the motel room door. Then a crashing sound and fuzzy shapes entered the room. He tried to tell them to flee, to run for their lives._

 _It came out as a roar, something strange and alien to his ears with the vibrations and echoes it produced. The sound of shattering glass was swallowed by that roar that was still going. Then, it all went. The light pulsed a few times before it became incandescent and swallowed his body whole. The pressure felt like it was crushing him, crushing his pathetic soul into nothingness, and then from the void of that pressure Lucifer’s voice echoed out, saying, “Thank you, Sam.”_

 _It was the last thing that Sam ever heard._

__________________________________________________________________________

If there was a word that Michael could use to describe Ash… well, he wasn’t too sure that he could limit it to one word. There were a number of them that were highly applicable. Determined, resourceful, and just plain old downright wilful did come to mind however. If Ash was determined to do something then, by God, she was doing it, didn’t matter if anyone else said ‘yea’ or ‘nay.’ She’d been like that since she was a child and they’d met for the first time. He’d been seven and she’d been four. She’d been standing guard over her brother Luke’s bassinet with a sturdy stick while her mother selected a few yards of cloth in the general store. Elijah and Ash’s now deceased sister Sarah had tugged at their mother’s skirt. He’d thought Ash odd and strange, with her mussed hair yanked back and intent, daring gaze. Then their parents had spotted one another and the Winchesters were inviting the Kozels over for dinner.

That had to be back in '86, if his memory served him right. Dinner with another family at his home then had been interesting. All he could really recall were a few things. He didn’t really like the boisterous, noisy Kozel kids. That was when he realised what had made Ash seem so odd. Her siblings were boisterous and noisy but she _wasn't_. She stayed close to her mother’s side and watched over Luke, serious and determined in whatever it was she thought she needed to do.

When dinner was over, he’d asked his father if he could show Ash his colt, Impala. His father, eyebrows raised but chuckling, had agreed. Ash had been reluctant to leave her mother and baby brother’s side and it took her mother shooing her off to get her to leave. He remembered the resentment that Ash had silently directed at him, right up until they got to the small barn.

Seeing her with the horses made her seem like an entirely different person. They’d stayed in the barn, petting Impala. They hadn’t said a single word, but she seemed a lot happier. When Ash’s father had come to get her with the approach of evening, she’d paused at the door, given him a shy smile and waved while rushing over the words, “Bye, see you later.”

That was how it all started, with a horse and tumble of words from a girl more defensive that she cared to admit.

It sometimes still surprised Michael that she let him in, that they became such good friends. Normally, people and their motivations were difficult for him to grasp. He was nothing like Jael and Silvanus in that respect. Plus, those two had that strange twin thing going on. But for some reason, as he and Ash grew up together, he found it all too easy to understand her. To see the root causes of things that shaped her personality. To watch her siblings grow up, moulding and shaping her even as she shaped and moulded them.

That daring he’d seen in her that first day, she had managed to fashion it into determination of an iron sort. Her silence was always watchful, picking up information and assessing it, absorbing it and using it, usually to keep the peace between her siblings.

But the past few years, especially after Sarah’s death back in '97, had shaken the family up. Sarah had only been fifteen when she’d died of the whooping cough. There had been a subtle shift in the dynamics of the siblings. Sarah had also been a peacekeeper, helping Ash to maintain accord. But when she caught the whooping cough, the entire family went into imposed isolation. When Michael finally saw Ash again almost three months later, she looked harder. Like life had taken her and ground her down to some sharp edges. Ash never talked about Sarah’s death. She never talked of Sarah after that, but Michael spied Sarah’s skull bracelet on her wrist. Sarah had carved it herself; blackening some of the bone carved beads with repeated rubbings of ash from the hearth fire and soakings in some sort coffee grind slurry.

Michael could understand Ash not wanting to bring up Sarah constantly. She had her memento and that was that. He’d lost two siblings himself, first little Michaela in ‘80 and then Moses in ‘95. But he was sure part of the problem stemmed from Ash’s reticence to talk about Sarah. For two years, Sarah was all her siblings would ask her about. And when Ash stonily refused to answer they’d stopped asking but the resentment was there and buried.

So maybe it was only a matter of time before Ash did something to get out of the house. Maybe she’d latched on to hunting just for that reason. Any kid who went into Lawrence on a semi-regular basis would hear the rumours, of men and women that wandered the land and exterminated all those things that went bump in the night. Every so often a Hunter would be spotted in Lawrence, their skin tanned from all those days out in the sun both dusty and grimy from their travels. While no kid ever saw a weapon on them, they just knew they were bristling with probably any number of blades that could kill with a flick of the wrist.

Not that it was a perverse fascination with sharp, pointy things. You knew which kids in town had parents that taught them how to defend themselves. By the time Michael was fifteen, no one tried to pick on him when he was coming home from school. Ash managed that particular feat by the age of twelve. The only other kids who did that were the Mosley kids, but they were living so far out in the forest that they were only seen once in a blue moon.

Maybe this hunting thing was something Ash just needed to get out of her system. Give it a few more days and she might be done and decide to head back home and –

“Damn it!” Ash’s exasperated words broke his train of thought. “I forgot the salt.”

“I’ve got some for cooking if you like.” Michael replied.

Ash made a pleased sound and fell silent once more. For some reason, that bothered him more than if she had just outright ignored him. There was something bothering her and she was just holding it in. So damned Ash and what she wanted at the moment. The least she could do was give him _something_ for an answer.

“Why?” he asked abruptly.

Ash glanced at him. He could see that she knew exactly what he was referring to. And then she answered with, “The sun is going to be setting soon, we should see about finding someplace to camp for the night.”

It was very rare that Michael huffed with annoyance, but Ash was pushing him to that point faster than he cared to admit. But a quick glance up at the sky proved her right. The sun was approaching the horizon and the shadows lengthening out. He glanced around and saw that the trees were thinning out a bit, revealing the crumbling bones of the massive stone buildings of the Old Ways, far back in the twenty-first century. Impala’s steps had slowed and he wished he’d noticed sooner. That’s what he got for thinking things over. Probably thinking too much, but that was him.

He swung himself off and Ash only turned around when his stirrups jangled. Michael just looked at her before saying, “C’mon, we’ll just find somewhere to bunk down for the night. It’s been a long day, considering we started at just after midnight.”

Ash’s eyes flicked to Impala and then to Zeppelin and for a moment, pure anger flashed across her face. Zeppelin was in the same state as Impala. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who’d spent the day in thought. They walked their horses through the thin young saplings, seeing row after row of crumbled structures. They went along the fringe before they found one suitable. Two sides facing the open space had crumbled away but the other two were intact. Michael and Ash gave them a few kicks, just to be on the safe side. There was no chance of them falling over in the night.

Once he’d taken the packs off Impala and hobbled him on the far side of their temporary shelter. Rubbing him down a bit, he watched Ash for a moment then declared, “I’m going to go find some wood.”

All Ash did was grunt in assent as she started pacing across the width to judge the center. Michael didn’t even bother to call her on it and checked his knives, undoing their safety ties before stepping into the forest. The forest wasn’t noisy, but he knew that because he was there, an unaccustomed intruder in their domain. Muttering to himself about the stupidity of what he was going to do, he crossed himself with a closed fist before pressing the index knuckle to his mouth. All he knew was that he didn’t need a hungry wolf coming across his tracks and figuring that it had easy pickings. He started walking, pulling a kabar knife free and notching the trees every few steps so he could find his way back easily.

It was easy to spot the trees that had died in the course of the winter. Most of the bark was sloughing off and the branches weren’t budding like other trees surrounding them. It didn’t take long to collect the first batch of wood, for the fire that night. He snapped a couple of the bigger pieces across his thigh and made a decent sized bundle for the night. When he got back to the camp site, Ash had dug out a fire pit and was lining the first few inches around it with chunks of rock that lay scattered along the edges of the building. He didn’t say anything, leaving her to it before heading back into the forest.

Longer branches were his target this time and it took him a bit longer to find some dead trees with branches low and sturdy enough for him to hoist himself up and get to work. The last thing he needed was a branch giving out on him and him breaking something in a fall. Judging from how much closer the sun had sunk to the horizon, he figured it took him about an hour to collect all the wood. When he finally returned to the campsite, long branches of wood tucked under each arm, Ash had her tinder box out and was crouched down by the fire pit on all fours, huffing and puffing for all she was worth. He watched as her efforts coaxed out a flame that licked eagerly at the leaves she laid out carefully as tinder.

He started working on the lean-to, making sure it was close enough to the fire to catch some of the warmth and keep it. It was a quick dig in his pack to retrieve a few lengths of rope. By the time he had the frame of the lean-to done and was working on laying down the back part, she had a brisk fire going. After a moment, she rummaged through her bag, pulling out some things and then rummaging through her bag some more, obviously looking for something she couldn’t find. Her digging became a bit more frantic after a few seconds though and she moved on to her second pack. Michael glanced over at what she pulled out. Some dried vegetables, jerky and a little cured skin pot with a tripod. It was the makings of stew, only she had no water.

Figured. He left off from the lean-to, went to his pack and pulled out a canteen. “Hey. Catch.”

Ash looked up as he lobbed it her way and her arm easily reached up and snagged it from its downward trajectory. She set the tripod and arranged the skin before she poured in some water and then tossed in the vegetables and jerky. Then it went over the fire and she stood up, dusting her hands off and shaking her legs one at a time. He was binding the back of the lean-to together when Ash started bringing over piles of the dead leaves. Well, he couldn’t fault her for that; it would definitely help keep them warm. She checked on the stew afterwards, and Michael whipped out two travelling cloaks from his pack and covered the horses. It looked like he was sleeping in his coat tonight.

“Hey.” Ash’s voice was soft. “Dinner’s ready.”

Michael just nodded his head, pulled out two big spoons from his pack and walked the few steps between them. Ash had pulled the skin pot away from the fire, uncurling the long flaps of her coat from around her hands. They sat down silently and when Michael handed her a spoon, they silently start eating. I

The late afternoon stretched into twilight and then night. It wasn’t too long before their fire was helping to keep the dark at bay, along with the light of the fading full moon. The issue of Hunting hadn't come up once today since they'd stopped talking. Michael didn't really want to bring it up and have them fighting again.  
Though, perhaps for once in his life, he should take a page from Ash’s book and just do what needed to be done.

“Ash,” the popping of wood in the fire intermingled with his voice. “Why do you want to become a Hunter so much?”

If looks could kill, right now Michael would have found himself in hell. Well no, that was a gross exaggeration. If looks could kill, Ash would have had the knife buried in his neck already and would be grinding it in further.

“You just had to go there, didn’t you?” She spat. “God, sometimes you can’t leave well enough alone Michael Dean Winchester! I told you that you didn’t have to come with me.”

“And I told you I wasn’t going to let you do this alone,” Michael somehow managed to remain calm. This was probably the first time she had well and truly roused his anger. “But I am trying to understand your motivations behind this.”

Michael couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, but he thought he heard Ash mutter a rhetorical question of when had he become such a girl. Again, he thought. But right at that moment, Ash was being so damned macho that he wouldn’t be surprised if she miraculously grew a penis and some balls and started scratching her ass. A scowl came to Ash’s face and she crossed her arms, drawing into herself. God, toss drama queen on top of the macho and that was the closest approximation that Michael could draw for Ash’s behaviour at the moment.

His hasty opinion was re-evaluated a few seconds later when Ash pulled something out from her inner jacket pocket and tossed it to his feet. He picked it up and unwrapped it. The embossed words of ‘The Gospels of Chuck’ were barely visible in the firelight. But the gilding on the words of ‘Non Timebo Mala’ was scratched in some parts. If her parents ever saw this book, they’d kill her for taking something so precious with her. No, they’d assure themselves that she was okay and _then_ kill her. What he was going to say next would not go over well with her, but he’d say it anyway. He hadn’t ever lied to her yet and he wasn’t about to start now to spare her feelings.

“Religion shouldn’t be your crutch. It’s just an old religious tale about people who no one is sure actually existed.”

Ash didn’t say anything but he could practically feel the indignation wishing it could smother him in those dead leaves under the lean-to. The silence was strained and broken every so often by the popping of the fire. Michael reached over and took another branch from the pile, adding it to the fire. There was one more thing swirling around in his head, demanding to be voiced.

“It’s still not too late to go home. We’re only,” he paused, taking into account the tired horses. “Two days travel away now. We can forget all this nonsense and…”

Michael trailed off seeing Ash’s shoulders stiffen. That seemed to get a reaction out of her. Ash turned to face him, throwing her face into sharp profile. One half was illuminated by the fire, the green of her one clearly visible eye staring at him intently like she could burn a hole through his flesh and bone. The other half was masked in shadow, the vertical line of her brow, nose and mouth a clear demarcation. He didn’t know why, but he figured that this must be what an avenging angel looked like, all pissed off and burning with a fire in their being.

“Back in February, do you know what I discovered? Something was feeding off the blood of our cows and our horses. So I started sleeping in the barn. I caught the culprit. Killed that chupacabra and nailed its body to a tree to warn off others. But there was still something else feeding off our cows. So I waited and surprised it. It took off like a shot. I managed to injure it but it got away. My kabar was covered in blood, old _stagnant_ blood. And I found these,”

She reached into that inner jacket pocket again and gave him a small wrapped bundle. Inside laid a few teeth, long, sharp and wicked looking. This didn’t come from any animal he recognised.

“Vampire teeth. I chased off a vampire from feeding on my cows. I’m damned lucky it didn’t rip my head off. We had three days of bad milk, the cows were so agitated. I killed a chupacabra and injured a vampire and chased them off. And you know what else I noticed? The Order of Winchester… there are more Hunters. Don’t you get it? There are _more Hunters_ now, even more than when the Order was first formed after the Cataclysm.”

“Okay.” That’s the only safe thing Michael could think of to say. He truly didn’t get what that meant.

“All these things that I thought were just myth, they’re _real_. And they’re probably becoming more active, why else would there be more Hunters. But there’s something else out there, Michael, I know it. It sounds crazy, but I can feel it in my bones. You might think that’s a bunch of bullshit but according to history, this is the first stirring of supernatural creatures since the Winchesters’ Sacrifice and Ascension.”

“Okay.” Michael really wished he could think of something else to say. He hated to sound like an idiot in front of Ash.

Ash made a sound of disgust and looked away from him. “Try talking to me again when you get a damned clue.”

The popping of the fire and the horses eating were the only sounds now. Michael looked down at the supposed vampire teeth he was holding in his hand. He placed the Gospel of Chuck on the ground, picking up a tooth and scrutinising it by the firelight. After a tirade like that, all Michael would have to do was wait; Ash would get fidgety and then crack.

Sure enough after a few minutes, Ash grabbed the book and picked it up. Then the next thing he knew, Ash grabbed one of his shoulders and twisted him so he was looking at her. There was an intent light to her eyes again.

Her free hand, clutching the Gospels of Chuck, was jabbing a finger right at his face.

“No questions this time,” Ash snapped. “You’re going to shut your pie-hole, sit there and listen, got it?”

There’s a part of Michael that, while still angry, was a _tiny_ bit amused. But he silently nodded his head. Ash settled back with a ‘hrmph’, opened the book and started reading.

__________________________________________________________________________


	2. Chapter 2

_For the first time in his life, Dean Winchester didn’t know what to do. Ever since Detroit, ever since Sam had… ever since Lucifer had possessed Sam, it had felt like he was fighting a losing battle. It didn’t help that Lucifer was being extraordinarily quiet; no one could figure out what he was up to or what was going on._

 _For six months, Dean just did as Castiel asked of him, trying to forget what he saw back in Detroit. Hell, it was what had obliterated Detroit. Far as Dean knew, nobody tried to figure out what happened to the giant crater by Lake Michigan. Fuck, it was probably filled **in** by Lake Michigan._

 _It was easier to just do as asked, as was ordered of him. He didn’t want to remember Sam, trying to say something to him, but feral sounds coming out instead. The light pouring out of Sam’s body felt like it was burning the air, leaving an acrid scent from evaporated gases. That was the last time he’d seen Sam, consumed by light, burning up._

 _Castiel must have come, because one moment there was that… horror filling his vision and then the cool night air with the sound of a lake really close by. He’d gone from bed to covering over three thousand miles in his pajamas in under three seconds. Then, like in a bad disaster movie, there had been a bloom of radiance followed by a pillar of light climbing into the sky, from the southwest._

 _It lasted ten seconds. During those ten seconds, Dean wasn’t too sure what to feel. Grief was in there somewhere, but honestly, grief wasn’t good for a damned fucking thing besides debilitating someone for a bit. That’s not what he needed right now. So he settled for mad. Anger was something he was familiar with, knew how to cope with it._

 _Dean had asked Castiel why the fuck he brought him and Sam to Detroit so urgently that night. Castiel paused only for a second before answering. With Castiel, he might as well have fidgeted with reluctance. Then he spoke the damning words._

 _“Those were my orders. Zachariah tracked me down. He said it was urgent and of the utmost importance.”_

 _When Dean had read books and writers had described incandescent rage, Dean had thought they were just bullshitting, trying to say ridiculously mad. But now… he did feel incandescent, like the anger would split his skin and leave him raw and ready for a fight, ready to just inflict pain on Zachariah until he was stopped by extreme measures. He hadn’t thought it possible for him to get **angrier** , but there it was. All Dean knew was that Zachariah had better not show his damned face. Dean might not leave him with one. That damned dick-head angel wasn’t the only one who knew how to get creative._

 _Dean hadn’t said anything for a long moment before he asked Castiel to get him somewhere warm. There had been no whammy this time. Castiel just led him to a small cabin and they holed up there for two weeks. He found out that Castiel had brought him to the last area he and Sam had been searching, up in Tongass National Park. Dean was **not** looking forward to crossing the border again. But he whipped up some fake IDs for Castiel just in case. They only resumed searching after Dean finally proclaimed his bowels fit for another emergency whammy to somewhere._

 _Castiel stuck by Dean’s side mostly, popping off for a few weeks at a time before he’d call Dean and ask where he was. The search for the angel sword took four months and proved fruitless. That was probably the worst part. And for three weeks, he just killed as many things as he could. Castiel looked more and more worried until one day, he finally said that, perhaps, Dean should grieve properly for Sam._

 _Dean replied that the best grieving he could do would be to kill Lucifer himself. Then the body would be only Sam and not some damned renegade angel._

 _Looking back, maybe that was truly the moment when he threw in the towel. The search for the angel sword hadn’t panned out and he was basically just going to start circling the drain now. He remembered that stupid little trip to 2014 that Zachariah made him go on._

 _At the moment, he and Castiel were in a hotel, while Dean rested. Dean had been absently watching TV. Castiel was attempting to try his hand at reading a book. Attempting was the key word since he was frowning more often than not and looking very puzzled. It was fuckin’ Apocalypse Nigh and they were acting domestic. There was so much wrong with that in Dean’s opinion._

 _Dean had pushed himself up from the couch and picked up his jacket, shrugging it on._

 _“Ready?” Castiel closed the book and put it down quickly._

 _“Yeah,” Dean fell silent for a moment and then said, “I need to talk to Michael.”_

 _It was the first, and would probably be the only time, that Dean saw a truly shocked expression on Castiel’s face. And Dean could see the question there. Castiel would ask if he’s sure and that perhaps there was another way, he could take the necklace and try to find God once more. All Dean knew was that he now wanted this done and over with._

 _He was sick of Heaven dicking him around, of not giving him all the facts and sending him charging in blindly. If Zachariah was all for getting their general here on Earth, then it meant Zachariah wouldn’t be manipulating him and Castiel, withholding information and screwing them over continually._

 _Michael is Dean’s way to fuck Zachariah over._

 _“Just… see what you can do.” Dean said gruffly as he got his shoes and put them on._

 _Castiel looked like he wanted to say something else, but elected not to. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”_

 _And like that, Castiel was gone. Dean didn’t stick around the hotel room. Dean would bet Castiel was going to have to get in touch with Zachariah and he didn’t want to be there when that asshole showed up. He was just out walking the streets when Castiel called him almost three hours later, telling him that it’d been arranged and he needed to come back to the motel. Castiel also pointedly stated that Zachariah was **not** there._

 _It didn’t take Dean long to hotwire a car and get back in less than twenty minutes._

 _When he walked into the motel room, Dean immediately saw a strange, barefoot woman sitting there on the bed. She looked a bit apprehensive but determined. She also looked like she wasn’t a day over seventeen. She smiled and shyly introduced herself as Jezebel Breckenridge and said that she’d be their angel contact for the afternoon._

 _That was the first joke Dean’s heard in ages. Well, a good, well-delivered joke. Castiel still didn’t grasp the concept of human behaviour, or humour, well._

 _There’s no preamble as Jezebel scooted back on the bed a bit and lay down. Castiel was there at the bedside, with a small bowl in a hand. Castiel looked at her and she nodded. After dipping a finger in the bowl, Castiel bended over and gently anointed Jezebel on the forehead. Then her shoulders and hands were done followed by her knees and feet. Her chest was the last place anointed and Castiel got the stuff, probably that oil he went to find once, all over the palm of his hand before he rested the bowl back on the night table._

 _Castiel placed his hand against her chest – Dean couldn’t help but think that’s probably the closest Castiel had gotten to a pair of breasts since the strip club – and started an invocation. The murmur of Enochian was slow and steady, but the cadence of it seemed to slowly fill the room, electrifying the air and making the hairs on his arms rise. When Castiel finished the invocation, something happened quite abruptly._

 _Jezebel gasped hoarsely, with an unearthly echo filling her voice. Castiel stepped back quickly, moving in closer to Dean, as her body arched off the bed and her limbs dug into the blankets. The anointed spots on Jezebel’s body flared briefly with light before subsiding into a pale shimmer against the major joints. Suddenly, the room felt different somehow, as if it was too small and constricted. When Jezebel rose from the bed even Dean could see that she looked different, like the barely glowing spots on her body were holding in something that’s a pale version of the original._

 _But it’s the look on her face that got to Dean the most. There’s no mistaking it. That was the expression of someone who wanted on the battlefield badly._

 _“You would speak with me?”_

 _Michael’s voice was superimposed on top of Jezebel’s, the two blending together in a strange way. Dean found himself feeling a little bit nervous, but there was no way that he was backing out of this._

 _“I want to ask you something.”_

 _The silence was deafening and Dean could see Castiel stiffen from the corner of his eye. Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but Michael raised Jezebel’s hand and Castiel fell silent._

 _“You would ask something of **me**?”_

 _Dean’s not stupid, he didn’t miss that inflection. But he shrugged it off and continued. Nothing ventured, nothing gained and all that. “Yeah.”_

 _There’s another moment of silence, where Michael tilted Jezebel’s head and studied him, as if seeing something he’s not too sure what to make of. But finally Michael replied with the simple word of, “Ask.”_

 _“When you kill… Lucifer,” Dean choked up a bit. There was a part of him quietly insisting that it was Sam, that it would always be Sam. “You kill him quick. No questioning, no chance for him to fuck us over again. If you get a chance, you take that angel sword and make it quick.”_

 _“Done,” Michael answered after a moment. There’s a look in Michael’s eyes that Dean didn’t care to analyse. He knew exactly what it was comprised of. “Lucifer won’t live any longer than necessary. He’s too dangerous to allow that.”_

 _Well, that’s something Dean could easily agree with. “Good.”_

 _Michael nodded Jezebel’s head before asking, “So you consent?”_

 _The word left Dean’s lips with no hesitation. “Yes.”_

 _All Michael did was incline his head. Then after a second, Jezebel’s eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed onto the ground. Castiel walked forward and knelt for a moment, picking her up._

 _“Michael will be here in a moment. She cannot be here when he first arrives.”_

 _“Yeah, go.” Dean nodded his head. He watched as Castiel rearranged Jezebel’s weight and suddenly, Dean didn’t want the last thing he said to Castiel to consist of just two words. “Hey. Thanks for everything… you know.”_

 _Castiel blinked for a moment in the face of Dean’s thanks. Then a small smile came to the angel’s face. “You’re welcome.”_

 _And just like that, Castiel popped away to who knew where with an armful of unconscious woman. It was just Dean in the motel room now, awaiting possession by an angel. He’s not too sure what to expect, but he hoped it wasn’t another Krakatau-sized explosion of light._

 _It was not the violent event Dean was expecting it to be. There was silence, then a vibration that became a rumble. Light swelled around him until he was standing in the middle of a pool of it. It felt like there was something probing along the fringes of his thoughts before it slipped in, gently and completely. The disconnect didn’t even register with him until Dean saw his own hands move on their own, fingers curling into a tight fist then relaxing._

 _He sure as hell wasn’t doing that._

 _There was a distinct sense of curiousness and then, **“You could treat your body better. It is a temple after all.”**_

 _That’s when Dean became puzzled by a very crucial fact: Michael had possessed his body and he, Dean Winchester, was somehow along for the ride. What the hell was going on? Dean fully remembered what Raphael’s vessel had been like after being possessed._

 _Michael seemed thoughtful for a moment then, **“If I fully possessed your body, your very soul would have been obliterated. And while you are the perfect Sword, your body would suffer from the effect much more. I cannot afford to be constantly healing you. And I have not been on this plane since the time of the Grigori and Nephilim, so I imagine things have changed drastically.”**_

 _Colour Dean surprised because, fuck, that shit had been real? And if Michael wasn’t fully possessing him, how did it feel like he was?_

 _  
**“This.”**   
_

_Michael drew a sword. It was bright and had a simple guard and hilt. Dean felt thoroughly unimpressed. This was a sword from Heaven? And wasn’t Michael supposed to have a flaming sword?_

 _ **“You humans have a fairly disturbing affixation for swords to be burning. Uriel was the one who kept his flaming sword. Me, I found it was unpractical, so I disposed of it. Then you all claim I lost it,”** Michael snorted and started walking around the room, picking things up and looking at them. **“As if an archangel would be without his weapon. The look of the weapon is inconsequential. If I stab someone, they’re dead. With this sword by my side, I am complete but not.”**_

 _So what? Michael had slapped some of his Heavenly being into a chunk of metal? Dean was now the angel condom with a hole?_

 _ **“Yes and no,”** Michael tried to pick up the remote and was surprised to find part of the table came with it. **“When you refused the first time, I followed other pursuits and have only recently returned when Castiel found me. But you have been fighting this war for close to a year now, and know more details than I. I need you as much as you need me.”**_

 _Dean figured he should have been ashamed a bit, but he didn’t care. Let Michael know how much he disliked Zachariah. Because out of all the angels he’d met, Michael was right up there with the few who were actually compassionate and not complete and utter dicks. And just what the hell did Michael mean by, ‘Yes and no’?_

 _  
**“For you to understand how I did it, you would need to have a far advanced knowledge of what you call quantum physics and about the other eighteen dimensions. Humanity hasn’t reached that point.”**   
_

_That’d do as an explanation. But if Michael wanted the complete story, he was going to have to talk to Castiel. Dean only had one half. But Dean didn’t know how well that would go over, since it seemed like almost every other angel seemed convinced that Castiel had Fallen and was probably nuts for trying to find God –_

 _ **“That is what my brother has been doing?”** Michael’s question was abrupt and intent._

 _Well, what else could Castiel be doing? And… and it was a good thing that Dean didn’t really have a stomach anymore because if he did, he would have definitely gotten motion sick and puked. The world suddenly seemed to stretch and blur, like time and distance could be stretched and pulled, or squished, like a piece of putty. And that still didn’t feel like the right way to describe it. All Dean knew was that he went from motel to strange living room in the most disorienting and nauseating way possible._

 _Or rather, it would have been disorienting if he had control of his body. Maybe there was an upside to being a voice in an angel’s head._

 _Castiel was standing beside the couch and the girl, Jezebel, was stretched out on the couch and still passed out. It was the first time Dean’s ever seen plain, naked fear etched onto Castiel’s face. A small clutch of apprehension made Dean wish he hadn’t said… no, wait, hadn’t thought anything. Michael walked around to the other side, watching Castiel. Whatever Michael was thinking, Dean couldn’t pick up on it. When Michael came to a stop, Dean was expecting the worst, but then…_

 _  
**“It seems I have misjudged you. I hear you have been trying to find God.”**   
_

_If Castiel was surprised to hear this from Michael, he didn’t let on. “I am still trying. Events here require my attention as well. Dean needs… needed my help, as do many others.”_

 _Michael stepped forward and grasped Castiel by a shoulder. A rush of memories accompanied the touch, as well as a feeling of the purest love. It wasn’t something Dean had been expecting and then Michael said the words that left Dean thinking that they truly had a chance of killing Lucifer._

 _  
**“You have been truer than most and I would have you stand by my side. But first, we must talk.”**   
_

__________________________________________________________________________

The trees were thickening up again, obscuring the Old Ways buildings from sight once more. Ash felt a bit sad to see them go. For the past eight days, those crumbling ruins had provided shelter and safety. Nothing more said safety to her than having something good and solid at your back so as not to worry. Hopefully, they’d reach Shiloh tonight and she could sleep on a real bed.

Michael, well, at the moment, she honestly didn’t care where he slept at the moment. It could be the dung heap or some other place that seemed a perfect accompaniment to his bad mood. In a spectacular show of bitchiness, Michael had remained peeved at her. Every time he spoke to her, she got the distinct impression that he thought she was just going through a phase or something.

Phases weren’t something she was ever allowed to have. It had always been about family, always. This was just another way to protect them. That was the reason she was sticking to at least. The only way Michael would find that out would be over her dead body. He’d just give her a look that said she was being stupid for ignoring the obvious. Ash figured Michael could deal with something that didn’t make a lick of sense to him. Not everything had to make sense. A little faith never hurt anybody.

A glance up showed the sun was just past noon. She dropped the reins, just letting Zeppelin walk as she reached back into a pack and took out the last of the jerky, hard tack and a handful of dried apples. Using her knees she nudged Zeppelin closer to Impala.

“Hey, lunch,” she handed half of the provisions over to Michael. “It’s all we’ve got until we reach Shiloh.”

Michael took it, looking around before he looked up at the sky. “We’ll probably get there with nightfall.”

They didn’t say anything for a bit, gnawing on the hard tack and jerky before finally moving on to the dried apples. So far today had been good. Michael hadn’t said a single thing about her deciding to do this. They’d woken up just after dawn and eaten some cold leftover stew from the previous night. Michael had watered the horses as she packed up and they were back on the trail again in about an hour.

And the only things that hadn’t made a sound were her and Michael. Their temporary truce seemed to be working. Ash hadn’t read any more passages from the Winchester Gospels for him. It seemed like Michael had a tough enough time trying to figure out the motivations and reasoning that had driven Sam and Dean to agreeing to become vessels.

She wasn’t going to try and explain it to him. Michael was school-smart, there was no denying that, but sometimes Ash was sure that he kept his head buried in his books and facts too much. She had tried the school thing, but it was so much farther for her than Michael and honestly, she couldn’t be bothered to sit in a stuffy room for almost eight hours and read from a book that became completely uninteresting when someone else talked about it. She’d just stopped going by the time she was twelve and let her mom teach her at home.

“What are you going to do when we get there?” Michael sounded absent-minded.

Ash shrugged. “Don’t know. I’ll let you know after I get a good night’s sleep. It’ll be nice to sleep on a mattress.”

“Definitely. Do you think they’d have a library?”

Christ, there’s a loaded question if Ash ever heard one. “Maybe. Why?”

“I feel like doing some reading tonight.”

“You have something to read.” Ash had given him her copy of the Winchester Gospels to browse through at night. He hadn’t done so since that first night she read to him.

Michael glanced at her before saying, “Something _else_ to read.”

And there it was. She didn’t respond, just nodding her head. The rest of the journey there felt like forever to Ash. There would be long periods of silence and then an abortive attempt at conversation because Michael always seemed to bring it back to the one point Ash wasn’t going to discuss further.

By the time nightfall came, they had just reached the borders of Shiloh. There were a few houses and the people getting ready for the night looked at them in surprise and then thinly veiled suspicion. The Order of Winchester building here was vastly different. It wasn’t storied, but sat on a gentle hill, spread out for a bit. Ash could see a number of things wrong with this, but hey they built it here and they could deal with it when the hill eventually gave out from rain and such.

She shut her mouth once they found lodgings for the next few days there. To Ash’s surprise, the building was actually storied. The first level was hidden inside the hill and buttressed with stone pillars. The second level was what she had seen sitting atop the hill. As an attendant led them from the stables to their rooms, Ash couldn’t help but look around as they walked. This place was cleverly constructed not to mention demon proof. The first thing she’d seen when she walked in was at her feet, an ornate mosaic of some kind, right there in the entranceway. That thing wasn’t going anywhere unless something ripped it up from the ground whole. Not like that was happening any time soon. Michael, in typical Michael-fashion, had skirted the mosaic, claiming he didn’t want to walk over such a work of art. When they were shown to their quarters, Ash stood there for a moment before she turned and looked at Michael.

“So, uh, I’ll see you in the morning.” Ash wished this suddenly didn’t feel so awkward.

“Yes. … Night.”

And just like that, Michael disappeared inside his quarters. Ash scowled as she entered her own. He could at least look as awkward as she felt. After dumping her packs beside the door, she rolled her shoulders and then stretched her neck. Her coat and blades were the next things taken off. She’d been wearing them for so long it felt like they had carved grooves in her flesh. Her clothes weren’t too beat up but they’d need a wash in a few days. That’d be the next priority when they came to a creek.

She spotted a washbasin beside the plain cot and eagerly stripped down to nothing before she took the washcloth and washed away some of the grime from her body. That tepid water was heaven. Maybe she could find a bath. Even something lukewarm would be a Godsend after mornings of washing her face in the frigid March waters of creeks and streams.

After cleaning up a bit, she snapped out her clothes sharply a few times before putting them back on. Then she walked quietly to the door and peered out. There was no one about in the lamp-lit hallway. She stepped out, easing her door shut. She walked by Michael’s door quickly and disappeared down the hallway. She wandered for a bit until she found the door leading to the library.

The chamber was filled with books, from floor to ceiling and seemed to stretch the length of the entire hill. What she was surprised to see was that Michael wasn’t here yet, face buried in between the pages of a book. For some reason, she still felt too awake from their ride in to sleep just yet. She walked along the walls of books, until the title of; _‘Esoteric Practices of the 21st Century’_ caught her eye.

She couldn’t say what made her select it. But almost thirty minutes later she was sitting at a table, engrossed in the text and the diagrams. It was only when she got to something called the ‘Rite of Enshroudment’ that she became confused. She stared at it, brows furrowed before she flipped ahead a few sections. The diagrams were back. This was the only section in the book that showed nothing. Her frustration must have showed since a gentle knock rapped on the wood table beside her.

“You look confused.” A man sat down beside her.

“I am. This section is…” Ash admitted with a simple shrug.

“I’m John by the way, librarian in residence.” He shifted, angling his body and peering at the book. “I don’t usually get people down in here at this time.”

“Ash,” she replied before continuing with, “And this section has no diagrams.”

“It’s not supposed to,” John craned his head to get a better look before Ash pushed the book in closer to him. “Only the abbots know the truth behind this.”

“And let me guess, there’s no abbot here?” Ash sighed.

“On the contrary, you’re looking at him; abbot by day and librarian whenever possible.” John grinned.

“Good, because this would have driven me nuts,” Ash tapped the page with a finger. “Tell me what you know about this.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

If only sleep would come. Michael had spent a grand total of probably an hour trying to just drift off. It had all failed horribly. And so here he was, wandering around the building trying to find the library. So far, all he was finding were more and more corridors and single rooms he couldn’t figure out the purpose of.

This whole day had left him on tenterhooks. He just had to push the issue with Ash. He just couldn’t believe that she’d read some religious text and taken it into her head to run off and save the world. That was something for the books and not for real people. But it seemed like every time they’d try talking en route here, he’d invariably find himself asking a loaded question.

And now, God… he was mentally exhausted. This was worse than those extremely hard Fibonacci’s number puzzles his teacher sometimes gave him.

A doorway became visible the further down the hallway he walked and he peered in. Spotting a bench, he slipped in and gratefully sat down. His feet were killing him and resting them for a few minutes was just what he needed. He leaned his head back against the high back of the bench and sighed heavily. Maybe just a day to get his head on straight was what he needed. And some time where he and Ash weren’t trying to play nice for the sake of not spilling one another’s blood. He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands before lifting his head.

His vision was a bit blurry but it cleared up as he looked around. This room was a chapel of some kind, not very large and barely lit along the sides by the lamps. But the front of the chapel was clearly illuminated. There was no altar or anything like that.

All that was at the front of the room was a painting. Or rather, three paintings.

Michael blinked until he could see clearly once more. The first painting was simple enough, a man and a woman with their two children. The second one was a bit more abstract, just two yellow eyes that seemed to peer out of the dark shadows. It raised the hairs on the back of his neck and everything in his being said that those eyes bespoke nothing but trouble. But the third one… the woman was bleeding from the abdomen and splayed out, while the image of a house burned the background. Off in the corner, Michael could just make out the image of the father and the boys underneath the woman, blended in with the shadows as if they were disappearing from the world.

“Jesus Christ,” Michael breathed as he finally looked away from the painting. His chapped hands in his lap seem like a safer alternative. “This is…”

He trailed off, picking at his hangnails. Messed up? Completely messed up and something that he didn’t feel ready to handle? Books always had answers for him. That was why he pulled out the Gospel of Chuck that Ash had given him. He opened it to the beginning and started reading. His eyelids felt heavy and he blinked a few times.

His thoughts were strange, of a man looking at something in horror, of him cradling his children in the cold, dark night with flashing lights all around them. Despair, grief, bewilderment, panic and rage… it all felt like it was trying to suffocate him. When he opened his eyes again after that last blink, his neck felt sore and his arm numb. He blinked more rapidly, feeling the sluggish grip of sleep ease up on him. Ah crap, he’d fallen asleep in the chapel and damn was he going to feel it later on today when they got back in the saddle. No wait, they couldn’t be heading out so soon, they just got here. He didn’t get up right away, craning his neck to find that Ash was sitting there on the same bench as him.

It took him a moment to decide to feign sleep once more. Ash’s eyes looked red and bloodshot, as if she’d been crying – she’d deny it until she was blue in the face – for awhile. But there’s a determined look in her eye that Michael knew well. He slowly lowered his head before he stretched with a loud yawn. That, thankfully, wasn’t faked in the slightest.

Ash looked over at him before saying softly, “Hey, I went looking for you a bit before dawn.”

“Sorry. Came here to clear my mind.”

“Must have worked. I’ve been up all night,” she rubbed at her eyes a bit. “Reading.”

“You?” Michael stretched once more, feeling his elbows and knees pop. “Spending all night with a book in front of your face.”

“We’re on a pilgrimage. I might as well learn about the sites and such. The abbot says breakfast will be served soon in the refectory. Feel up for a bit to eat?”

“I feel like I need a bed.” Michael replied as he got to his feet.

“You and me both.” Ash added. “How about we get something to eat and I fill you in on what I learned.”

This was one of those moments, Michael figured. There was a reply on his tongue that died as he recalled the look in Ash’s eyes. There wouldn’t be any dissuading her from this chosen course of action. Seeing her with those red-rimmed eyes… he didn’t know why, but he recalled what she had been like after Sarah’s death: hard, brittle and unyielding… and thoroughly unhappy. Now, Ash was being hard and unyielding but she saw a definite purpose in this, in the pilgrimage.

He didn’t have to get it. But he’d give her a hand with whatever he could. She probably did need his help since she had forgotten something basic like salt, of all things.

“Michael?” Ash pushed.

It was time for him to grow up and quit his little temper tantrum. “That’s a good idea.”

Ash gave him a grin and started walking down the hall. The next three days were spent listening to Ash prattle on about things called Devil’s Traps and enthusing about Latin exorcism rituals. It was a good thing Michael was used to paying attention; otherwise he would have started drifting off and not listening. Not to mention his Latin was technically proficient, but lacked the nuance that Ash was able to utilise. After getting their clothes back and fresh provisions – both of them had been delighted to find out that the Order of Winchester looked after those on pilgrimage – they headed down to their horses.

When they got to the entranceway, Ash stopped him from walking further with an arm across his chest. Michael just glanced at her and raised an eyebrow.

“Look,” she murmured as she jerked her chin at the mosaic they had seen on first coming here.

Thank God Ash was shorter than him and her attention was distracted because Michael’s knee-jerk reaction had been to roll his eyes. He looked down at the mosaic on the floor. There was a circle around it and… what lay inside was not the configuration of a devil’s trap. He pushed Ash’s arm aside and stepped closer, crouching down beside it. Ash joined him, her voice a bit cynical when she spoke.

“I knew something was bothering me when I read about devil’s traps. I assumed this was one… but it’s not. This is the Sigil of Azazel.”

Thanks to Ash’s prattling, he at least knew what that meant. “This is where John Winchester made a deal with the Grigori to save Dean from death’s door.”

“This,” Ash said after slowly nodding her head. “It’s a piece of history.”

“Hmm.”

That was Michael’s simple reply as he touched the mosaic with his fingertips. He could see it now, a man in a room, making a deal with a trapped devil. There was something in his hands, something metallic that gleamed wickedly in the dim light. Those yellow eyes of Azazel’s looked triumphant and –

Pulling his hand back quickly, Michael curled it into a fist. His imagination was definitely running away with him. Ash had stood back up and he did the same hastily, though he gave the sigil a wide berth as they crossed into the stables.

“It’s just a mosaic you know. You _can_ step on it.”

“It’s art.” Michael went with the same protest as before, though he felt less sure of it.

“Whatever.” Ash waved a hand in dismissal as she looked around for the groom.

All Michael did was snort and jog to catch up with her. The groom spotted them and went to go saddle up their horses. Once the man was gone, Ash turned to him and reached for his jacket lapel.

“What now? Did I rip my jacket, mom?” Michael teased.

“No,” Ash gave him a momentary sneer, “Something else. See?”

On the underside of the lapel, she’d pinned a pentagram pin of some kind. Hers was pinned in pretty much the same place on her jacket. He just looked at it for a moment before he smoothed his lapel back down and then rested his hand over hers for a moment.

“Thanks. Considering your atrocious sewing skills, I’m glad to not find my heart skewered.”

“Don’t worry,” she patted the lapel, momentarily pressing the pentagram against his shirt. “There’re always your kidneys.”

Michael couldn’t hold back his laugh if he tried. It was good to have things back to normal between them. The groom brought over Zeppelin and Impala. It took some doing to get their packs secured; the horses were dancing about from side to side. Once they saddled up, they let the horses go at a trot. Michael had to admit, there was something about being astride Impala, feeling the bunch and stretch of equine muscles, the cool air on his face, Impala’s eagerness to get back out there. He looked over at Ash to find there was an irrepressible grin on her face.

The second they were out of Shiloh and the ground levelled out, they let the horses take the lead. The trot went into a full out gallop, Zeppelin and Impala’s breaths as harsh as their hooves against the ground. Michael dispensed of the reins, his fingers catching in Impala’s mane. His hat was soon ripped away from his head by the breeze and only the thick string caught it on his neck. He looked over to see Ash’s hair being churned by the breeze as well. An exuberant undulation came from her throat and Michael joined her in it.

About three miles later, the horses finally slowed down. Michael tugged gently on Impala’s mane, bringing him to a stop and Ash did the same. When he looked down at his clothes, they were rumpled and needed some adjusting. God only knew what state his hair was in. Ash had fared about as well as him, her hat around her neck as well, hair a messy snarl. God, he couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot. He felt like he was thirteen again.

“Okay, let’s walk them for a bit.” Ash sounded mildly breathless, like the wind had snatched away most of her voice.

Michael nodded and they dismounted. After waiting a moment, they started walking. The silence was easy and comfortable between them. After about a mile, Michael reached over and nudged Ash in the shoulder.

“Tell me more.”

“More what?” Ash asked.

Michael could see the small seed of scepticism and nipped it in the bud. “About Sam and Dean. You left off with Dean agreeing to become Michael’s vessel.”

“You’ve probably read it by now.” Ash shrugged. “No point in being redundant.”

“I’d much rather your take on it.” Michael pointed out. He wasn’t about to say he fell asleep reading the Gospels of Chuck.

That seemed to surprise her. But she took the olive branch he offered. “Sam was much in the same situation as Dean…”

__________________________________________________________________________

 _He was an idiot. Sam should have known that Lucifer would have pulled something._

 _When Lucifer had possessed his body, Sam had been expecting that to be the end of him. It was just supposed to be the end of his consciousness, his soul, his very being. He wasn’t expecting to see the light die down and find Lucifer standing in the middle of a crater that had once been Detroit and part of Windsor, Ontario. There had been a few survivors that Sam could see emerging from the ground. They’d been in basement levels._

 _But then Lake Michigan had come rushing in to fill the void left by the absence of land._

 _Sam had wanted to do something, anything, to spare those people the watery death that came rushing towards them as a tsunami. Lucifer had teleported himself to the rim of the crater and watched as the roar of water swallowed the screams of the terrified people and then their bodies. It had taken probably all of ten minutes for the water to silence and the bodies to float up to the surface._

 _Lucifer had said that he needed to teach Sam a lesson, that destiny wasn’t something to be avoided._

 _It had been in that one moment that Sam found a new depth for his hatred of Lucifer. The sanctimonious bastard was **gloating** at him, keeping him trapped in what had once been Sam’s own body and making him watch._

 _Fuck, Sam should have had faith in Dean. He should have had faith that he and Dean could have killed Lucifer together._

 _But Sam, being himself, had done the noble and self-sacrificing thing and agreed._

 _  
**“I did thank you. What more do you want, Sam?”**   
_

_Sam figured Lucifer’s immediate death would have done nicely._

 _ **“Not very Christian like,”** Lucifer sighed heavily in disappointment. **“Besides, you humans had plenty wrong about Christ too, but that’s neither here or there.”**_

 _There was nothing that Sam could do as Lucifer stood there, contemplating the devastation and thinking it just. Detritus was floating by, random things like books, pages, bits of paper and other various diverse items from lives erased. The bodies floating around… Sam didn’t want to look, but as Lucifer was determined to watch this grisly horror, then he had no choice. After what seemed like forever, Lucifer finally walked out across the water as if it were solid concrete._

 _Something bothered Sam, seeing that lake stretched out before him, something nagging at the back of his mind. Lucifer bent down, scooping up some of the filthy, muddy water and letting it trickle down through his fingers._

 _ **“This was a beautiful planet once. Once… and then you humans came along, a virulent infection upon the planet, sickening and slowly killing it. You’re the cancer that he wanted me to love more than him.”** Lucifer flicked the water from his hand. **“Not that it matters anyway. I have my Sword and my plans can be fulfilled.”**_

 _There was nothing good about any of what Lucifer just said. Lucifer chuckled, the tone ominous. It left Sam with the feeling of something terrible to come._

 _ **“You are a rather amusing creature,”** Lucifer fell silent for a moment. His amusement was obvious, tinged with something sardonic. **“You have no idea of the depths she reached. Of what she did and of what you’d consider her betrayal. It’s too bad Dean won’t ever be able to tell you. …Not that he would have. Did he tell you of –”**_

 _Sam didn’t want to hear it, he didn’t want to suffer through Lucifer turning the screws of his misery in further. He could damn well do that himself and would be for as long as Lucifer chose to keep his soul trapped in what had once been his body._

 _Then, almost instantaneously, the sound of Lucifer’s voice faded away to nothing. Sam could see his former body still striding across the water, hands moving. But there was no sound, no sensory input that was reaching him. He’d somehow managed to block out Lucifer, just blessed silence._

 _A crazy thought occurred to him then, right at that moment. He just managed to block out Lucifer, of all beings. He didn’t understand it, didn’t even know where to begin trying to figure it out. But it was something. And if he could make himself insular and keep Lucifer out… maybe it could work the other way around somehow. Maybe… just, maybe…_

 _Given his lack of options, Sam figured it was his only gamble. With some luck and a prayer maybe, just maybe, he could wrest back some control of his body from Lucifer himself._

__________________________________________________________________________

It was on the evening of the fifth day that Ash realised what was wrong.

With Shiloh behind them, their journey had been pretty smooth for two days at least. It was on the third day that Michael started acting a little bit odd. Ash had gone hunting with him before, with their fathers and grandfathers since they’d shown some skill at it. Michael had been attentive and able to read the smallest things. She liked to joke that a mouse could have poked its head out from its burrow in the forest; Michael would be at home, reading a book, and he would have heard it.

But the day before yesterday, she noticed that Michael was… well he was _twitchy_. It was the first time she’d ever seen him like this and it was honestly worrying her a little bit.

When they’d slept for the night, in watches, Ash noticed that Michael always had a blade in his hand, checking the edge and honing it before polishing it up with the oil rag. It was honestly a little bit disconcerting for her to lie there, hearing the crackle of the fire, the ring of the whetstone along the edge followed by the rustling of cloth.

By the fifth day, just after noon, it clicked for Ash. What was wrong was that the forest was too silent.

There was no chirping of birds, no sounds of things rustling about in the undergrowth. Save for the sound of the wind in the trees, it was silent. It was also damned unnatural and made Ash make sure her weapons were within easy reach. The afternoon stretched into early evening. The only change they made was to urge the horses into a quicker trot and make sure the bigger blades were within easier reach.

When the town buildings came into view, they got off and walked their horses in. It just couldn’t have been her imagination; the entire town seemed to reek of paranoia, fear and desperation. Ash looked around as they slowly walked down the main street. There were a few people milling about on their porches, watching them with a stony expression. Ash glanced over at Michael who was leaning in closer to her while still looking around.

“Look at the windows.” His voice was a barely heard murmur.

Ash frowned and looked around once more. The windows on the lower levels were boarded up tight. Some boards were new, the colour bright and pale in the fading light. Some old boards were still up, bearing long and faded scratch marks. Ash didn’t like the look of that at all. Just from an initial glance she was inclined to think…

“Wolf?” she murmured back to Michael.

Michael shook his head. “It looks too big to be a wolf. Bear maybe.”

“Hmm.”

That was Ash’s single reply. They didn’t say anything else until they got to the town’s tiny inn. Michael went inside to get them rooms and Ash found the stable. There was no stable hand, but a quick look at the thick door showed that it had a good sturdy lock on the outside. She quickly took off their travelling packs and got the horses set up in some empty stalls with feed and fresh water. When she came inside, Michael took some bags from her and then turned to the proprietor who silently led them to their room for the night. Once the door was closed, Ash turned to look at Michael.

“Okay, so what is it exactly?”She placed her bag on the side of the bed. Then she looked at it hard and then at Michael. “There’s only one bed.”

“It cost much more for the one room with two beds,” Michael said easily as he went to the empty side. “And I just know that something is very wrong here. That much is obvious.”

Ash nodded her head in agreement. However, they weren’t going to find out what by sitting here in their lodging for the night. She quickly rummaged through her pack, finding her knuckledusters before slipping them into an inner jacket pocket. Michael looked at her in surprise.

“Ah… what are you planning on doing with those?”

“We’re going out drinking. Come on.” Ash opened the bedroom door and motioned for him to get out.

Michael looked at her like she was crazy but slowly walked out. All it took was a gentle boot to the ass to get him moving a bit faster. The proprietor was nowhere to be seen when they left. Finding the bar wasn’t a hard feat as it was the only place that was brightly lit. The conversation only lulled a bit when Ash and Michael stepped in and found an empty table. A man came over asked what they wanted and quickly disappeared. Michael kept shifting about in his seat and was starting to look nervous. Irritated a bit, Ash quickly kicked him in the leg.

“Are you _looking_ for trouble?” Ash muttered. “Just sit still and drink your drink when it comes.”

The expression on Michael’s face said that he wasn’t too thrilled but he did it anyway. Ash glanced around. A few people at other tables were watching them with more suspicion now. Damn it. She looked back at the scarred top of their table, wondering how long it would take someone to come over and fish for information.

Ten minutes from when their drinks arrived, there came the scrape of chairs and heavy steps coming their way. Ash didn’t make any visible sign, just straightened up in her chair and took another pull of her strong, hoppy beer. Michael was sipping at his, slowly working his way down. Count on Michael to nurse a drink.

Ash remembered the words of her deceased grandfather. Half the battle was psychological. The other half, if you knocked them down in less than five minutes, they probably wouldn’t get back up to fight you. As the few individuals sat down at their table, Ash made a quick assessment of them. There were three men and two women. Four of them were about her height and the last one in between her and Michael’s height. She glanced over and managed to not laugh when she saw how Michael had shrunk in his seat. The guy was five foot ten and somehow managed to look like he was five foot five in the chair.

She could easily see the bumps of small kabar knives on their guests’ sides. It made her want to laugh. All she and Michael would have to do was pull out their makhairas and these idiots would think twice about whatever stupidity they were entertaining in their minds. She finished off her beer and signalled for another. That was something else her grandfather had recommended once in a while: pure, golden, liquid courage.

“New faces,” the woman closest to Ash was the first to speak. “Haven’t seen that in awhile.”

The two men sitting farthest from Michael and Ash unsheathed their knives, rested their elbows on the tabletop and started to clean their nails. Ash narrowed her eyes and Michael quickly took another drink of his beer, looking like he was trying to not laugh. Any idiot who did that with their elbow resting against a table deserved the sliced finger they’d get from a misplaced foot hitting a table leg. As if on cue, Michael shifted. His legs stretched out and barred hers a bit.

“We’re just travelling through.” Michael said easily. “Night came and we thought it best to stay in a town tonight.”

“Heading out tomorrow?” the man beside the woman asked.

Ash looked at him for a long moment before tilting her glass at him. “…Depends on the condition of our horses.”

A slow nod from Michael was followed by him taking a gulp of beer before speaking. “And if I might ask, who do I have the pleasure of talking to?”

It was so hard for Ash to not choke on her mouthful of beer. How Michael managed to combine that much politeness and scorn into a simple sentence was beyond her. But their table guests identified themselves. Lily was the woman closest to Ash; the man beside her was Judah. The two idiots cleaning their nails with their kabar knives were Anthony and Mitch and the final, silent woman was identified as Danielle. When Ash’s second beer came, she took a quick drink from it.

“Well, we don’t want any trouble, got it?” Judah said pointedly.

“Oh, are you looking for it?” Ash asked mildly.

Anthony and Mitch paused, looking at them before they went back to their nails. Danielle didn’t say anything, just watching placidly. Ash had a feeling that if this all went to shit, Danielle would be the problem, not these other idiots. Lily moved in closer to Ash. All Ash did in response was to take a drink of beer and reach underneath her jacket as if to scratch an itch. The knuckledusters bumped against the back of her hand and she felt comforted.

“No, but I think you and your friend,” Lily’s eyes flicked over to Michael. “Should leave once morning comes. He seems the really nervous type. Wouldn’t want him to get accidentally stabbed or strung up.”

That was the entirely wrong thing to say to Ash. She finished off her beer, looked at the two idiots with the knives and kicked at the table leg hard. There was a loud swearing from Anthony and Mitch, bright drops of blood on the tabletop. Michael took his cue and kicked out the chair from underneath Danielle. Her head caught the table and she stayed down once she hit the floor. The murmur of conversation in the bar died down as Ash got up, staring down at Lily.

“Would you like to clarify that statement?” Ash crossed her arms. She purposefully pushed back her long jacket, displaying her still sheathed blade handles. “I’m sure he’d like you to.”

“By all means, please do.” Michael’s tone was cold as he stood up as well. “I certainly don’t want to find myself stabbed or strung up… accidentally, of course.”

Whatever Lily had been thinking about replying with, she thought the better of it. Ash thought that was pretty wise, considering she and Michael had just neutralised three people in under a minute. When she looked back, Anthony and Mitch were cradling their injured hands with their good ones. There was a lot of blood on the table and Ash figured that her kick had sent the blade skittering down their palms. That’d teach them. Do stupid shit like that with a knife and you’d get hurt eventually.

Judah and Lily got up, more than ready to start fighting but a sharp whistle caught their attention. The burly bartender stepped out from behind the long counter.

“You two,” he pointed to Ash and Michael. “Upstairs. Judah and Lily, get the hell out of my bar.”

All eyes were on them as Judah and Lily picked Danielle off the ground and carried her out. Anthony and Mitch followed, giving Michael and Ash dirty looks. Ash walked up to the bartender and she was pretty sure she heard him mutter, “Goddamn troublemakers those two are.”

Ash glanced at Michael before the bartender led them upstairs to a single room. The fireplace wasn’t lit and there was just a table and a few chairs.

“Wait here.”

That was the only thing the bartender said before disappearing once more with a soft click of the door closing. Ash glanced at Michael, feeling laughter bubble to the surface. She shouldn’t have been laughing but God, those idiots had seriously tried to intimidate her and then threatened Michael. What did they think she was going to do? Just sit there, blithely nod her head and agree to whatever they were saying?

“You’re sick, you know that right?” The amusement in Michael’s voice was easy to pick up on. “Only you would find this whole situation hilarious.”

“Oh, and you’re one to talk, Winchester?” Ash fired back.

She looked over to find Michael had gritted his teeth in an attempt to stave off the smile. But the curl to the corner of his lips betrayed him. A quick poke to his side and it all dissolved away. The smile that broke through on Michael’s face made her want to laugh again.

“I must be a terrible influence on you. You never would have done that before.” Ash walked over to the table and sat down easily in a chair.

Michael shrugged and joined her, sitting in the other chair. “Maybe I’ve learned to sort of roll with it when needed.”

That had been the last thing she was expecting him to say. She just looked at him, wondering what had been running through his mind for him to come to that conclusion. But the door opened again and a thin, worried looking man walked in. his beard was scraggly and he looked haggard, with dark circles under his eyes and an anxious way of looking about him. He had a bag slung over a shoulder and it swayed as he walked right over to the table and shook their hands.

“I’m Shurley, the town mayor,” he said easily. “Ian downstairs informs me that you two are Hunters.”

For a moment, Ash wondered how the bartender knew that. But it’s entirely conceivable that the man had caught a glimpse of her pin when she’d moved and intimidated Lily right back. She nodded her head and Shurley looked so relieved that he could have started crying. Ash glanced over at Michael to now see a worried look on his face. She was starting to feel the same as well. Just how bad were things in this town?

Shurley stood at the end of a table and ran his hands through his hair a few times. “I’m going to be blunt with you guys. We have a problem with something killing our livestock and such. People are terrified and whenever we search, we find nothing. It’s been going on now for the past six months.”

When Michael spoke, she managed to not show her surprise. “What exactly have you found with the dead livestock?”

“Strange footprints, not like anything I’ve ever seen before,” Shurley reached into the bag. “One of the young boys thought to mix up some flour and water and pour it into the footprint.”

When Shurley placed the fragile cast on the table Ash furrowed her brows in puzzlement. It looked like someone had taken a wolf paw and stretched it out to an almost unrecognizable shape. Michael leaned forward now, getting a closer look at it. The main paw pad was elongated, about the length of a human palm and wrist. The small pads were longer as well and were punctuated at the end by a long thin line indicating a claw.

“We need to figure out what is causing it precisely. People are afraid whatever it is will start attacking people soon. You can still stay at the inn and we’ll see to your food while you investigate and provide you with fresh provisions when you leave.”

Ash looked over at Michael, but he was still absorbed by the cast. She watched for a bit as he held his hand closer to it, mumbling something unintelligible to himself. After a quick nod of her head, Shurley let loose an audible sigh of relief.

“I feel much better having this seen to by professionals,” Shurley paused for a moment and then said, “There are rumours going around that it’s a werewolf doing this. Most of the attacks have occurred around the time of the full moon.”

“Good to know,” Ash rose and let Michael continue to inspect the cast. “Tomorrow, if you could take us to where the attacks happened –”

“Done.” Shurley cut her off and nodded his head. “I’ll come and get you both in the afternoon after lunch.”

“All right then. There isn’t much of anything else that can be done tonight. So just go home, get a good night’s rest and we’ll start tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you so very much,” Shurley grabbed her hand and practically attempted to pump it off her shoulder. “The town would be indebted to you and him. And –”

“And I think you should get going home.” Ash said gently as she steered him toward the door. “Full day tomorrow.”

Shurley nodded his head and disappeared quickly. As soon as Ash had closed the door once more, she leaned against it and watched Michael. There was a growing look of disbelief on his face, as if he couldn’t quite believe what his eyes were seeing right there in front of him. She walked back over and sat down, regarding him.

“Opinions?” she prompted.

“I’ve never seen a track like this before,” Michael scratched at his head for a second. “It’s too big to be a wolf and yet clearly it has definite lupine features to it; definitely not a bear.”

Ash was silent for a moment before she said, “Most of the attacks were around the time of the full moon. The only thing that attacks cyclically and could leave a track like that is basically some kind of werewolf.”

“Then we have our work cut out for us tomorrow, don’t we? We should get back to the inn and sleep.”

Ash nodded her head in agreement and they started back to the inn. She didn’t miss the fact that Michael hadn’t given a direct answer to her question at all.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


	3. Chapter 3

The sun had set and a thin sliver of white was rising from the tree tops. The full moon was rising. Michael peered out of the window for a bit longer and looked back at Ash. She had their blades arranged on the bed and was carefully honing the last one. It was late evening and they were just waiting for their quarry to move.

Eight days was how long it took them to conduct their quiet investigation. Working against the full moon, Michael had simply followed Ash’s lead on this case. Shurley had taken them out to where the werewolf’s bovine victim was. The door had a hole shattered through the middle of it. Shurley and Ash pushed inside, but Michael had inspected the door. Clumps of a strange fur were caught on the inner shards of wood. He pulled a few out, rubbing it between his fingertips.

It didn’t exactly have the coarse feel of wolf’s fur, but it was a little bit softer. It was long, brown at the base and changing to black by the end. He had no idea of what animal this came from.

The next few days after looking around the ruined, not to mention bloody-smelling, barn, Ash had them walking around town. At first, she had insisted it would be a good idea to rest and relax for a bit, get to know the town’s inhabitants. Michael didn’t quite see the point when there was a massive beast lurking in their midst. But by the fourth day, he saw the tact she was taking.

The townspeople got accustomed to them very quickly. And once that initial stage was passed, the information poured forth from them.

No one was sure about what was killing the cows, but they harboured a deep suspicion of the Burnet family that lived about half a day’s travel outside of Orion. Michael found it even more interesting that Judah was a Burnet and considered the strangest of the bunch. That night, he and Ash had bounced around theories and figured maybe the Burnets were worth checking out.

It was pure chance that immediately had Michael revising his opinion the next day before they left. They were walking out of the inn and when Michael looked around, he spotted a man a few houses up of them walking across the street. He would have thought nothing of it until he saw the man scratch at his neck and a clump of something brownish-looking came off with his fingertips. The even more damning evidence was that the man had tried to furtively hide it, right in the middle of the main street in broad daylight. A few other people walking about looked at the man like he was crazy and gave him a wide berth.

Luckily, Ash hadn’t missed what had momentarily caught Michael’s attention.

They had split up then, looking like they were taking care of various errands. When Michael walked past the general store and glanced in through the windows, he saw Ash talking to the man in question as if they were old friends. His own chance didn’t come until later in the afternoon when he bumped into the man accidentally. Truly, that had been Michael’s fault. He’d been flipping through the Winchester Gospels trying to see if it made any mention of… well, of werewolves, there was no getting around it.

It had only been the thump of someone colliding with him and then the thud of them falling that made him look up from the book’s pages.

He’d offered the man a hand and offered to buy him a drink as an apology. The man had looked at him like he was crazy but took him up on his offer of a drink. The conversation had been sparing until Michael got two drinks into the man. His name was Justin Colbert and he’d been having a rough past six months. First all his cows had been killed and then rats had gotten into his stored grain. His farmland had gone fallow and he’d moved into town, performing odd jobs here and there to make ends meet.

All Michael could think as he talked to Justin was that everything this man said fit into the timeline of what Shurley had told him and Ash in regards to the events that had occurred here. Justin didn’t want to leave the bar until the barkeeper, Ian, finally closed up for the night. Michael made sure that he got Justin back to the room he was boarding at before heading back over to the inn.

Ash had been waiting up for him with a cold bowl of stew, half a loaf of some dark bread and some fruit. They ate and talked for a bit, trying to figure out the curious Justin Colbert. That night, Michael found it rather hard to sleep. Not only for the fact that Ash was slowly edging him out of the bed. He found it hard to stop thinking that they were honestly trying to figure out who was a _werewolf_.

He knew he’d follow Ash on this pilgrimage, but treating the theory of lycanthropy as if it was a truly valid solution… it was stretching Michael’s credulity a bit too much. But he was learning to roll with things as they happened. A feral dog made a much better explanation than a man who transformed into a quasi-animal once a month.

The next clue came the following morning. Ash had wanted to ride up to the Burnet place and check it out, rule them out as possible suspects. Michael couldn’t blame her on that; if Judah was an indication of what the family was like then he didn’t want a thing to do with them. Justin had been approaching them, carrying a box of tools in one hand and looking very distracted.

Impala had been the first to shy away. Michael had been a bit surprised when the horse hastily sidestepped away from Justin, eyes rolling and nostrils flaring. Zeppelin was next, only the horse whinnied loudly. Even that didn’t catch Justin’s attention and he kept on walking. Michael got Impala under control and leaned forward, murmuring encouragement and patting him on the neck. Ash was doing the same to Zeppelin. When she looked up and her eyes met his, Michael could see the thoughts flickering through her mind. _‘That’s our werewolf. He has to be.’_

Finding out the location of Justin’s previous farm hadn’t been hard. It had been abandoned and it looked like it was well on its way to being reclaimed by the forest. Tree seedlings were sprouting up along the side of the house, while vines crept along the side walls that were in a bad state of disrepair. The barn was the only other building. The door hinges had rusted shut from the elements and neglect and it took both Michael and Ash to open them.

The floor had been wood planks, probably laid across beams of some kind. Those same planks were stained with old blood. Ash had wrinkled her nose and started poking around. The door had been the most interesting thing to Michael, as it bore no sign of forced entry of any kind. It was as if someone had left it unlocked and just pushed their way in.

More and more, it looked like the evidence was pointing towards Justin Colbert.

The final, and most damning, piece of evidence in Michael’s mind had been discovered when they entered the dilapidated single room cabin. The furniture inside was smashed beyond nearly all recognition. There were shreds of clothing scattered about with what could have been bed linens, not to mention parts of bed. On the back of the door were long, scratch marks, gouged out from the solid oak.

And in the midst of all the bits of clothing, linens and mattress were more of those clumps of fur. It couldn’t have been an animal breaking in. If that had been the case Justin would have defended himself and there’d be some kind of bloodstain.

The lack of bloodstain on the wood floors in the house seemed the thing that spoke the loudest to Michael.

Figuring out Justin’s schedule was the next, and easiest, thing. The man was a creature of habit. He went to work at a few different farms close by before coming back home for the night. The only other place he went to with regularity was the bar.

Michael and Ash had just watched as the full moon drew closer. Justin grew more twitchy and agitated. Earlier in the day he’d been downright skittish. The smallest things had startled him and made him wring his hands in anxiety.

Now, Michael and Ash had holed up in their inn room, looking out the window every so often. Justin’s place was a quick, and easy, view up the street. It was just a matter of time and patience.

Their diligence with the watching was rewarded when, at about two in the morning, Justin snuck out the front door. Ash had been watching and motioned him over to the window. Justin was walking out, with no jacket on, despite the early April chill. His skin was pale looking and covered in a thin layer of sweat than glinted in the moonlight. They watched him walk up the streets, heading for the forest.

He and Ash moved silently, slipping out from the inn and trailing after Justin. Tracking him through the town was easy. But as they entered the forest, they lost sight of him after fifteen minutes. Ash glanced at him before falling back. She was letting him lead on this one. It made sense since his tracking was much better. However, he wasn’t too thrilled about it. There was no way that this could end well.

The possibility of this being a feral dog was starting to become more and more unlikely.

The forest closed in and Michael was navigating through the shadows with the moonlight to guide him. Thank God the moon was full otherwise this would have been much harder. Swaying branches told him which way Justin went. The clear footprints were like shallow pits, with clearly defined lines. A quick crouch down to inspect them revealed the deepest impression on the heel and the rest of the foot gently sloping up.

That was the footprint of someone who was running fast. “He knows we’re on to him.”

Ash didn’t say anything, simply drawing out her sword. The length of steel looked blue in the moonlight. Hesitantly, Michael drew his makhaira and motioned for her to follow along his side. Ash silently moved and they started walking again.

A few minutes later, they found Justin’s shed coat and shirt. The boots were a few feet away, just tossed aside carelessly. Michael spent all of a moment wondering why the clothes had been shed when a long, pronounced howl echoed out over the forest. Ash turned around, her sword tip rose slightly, ready to attack. Michael had remained silent, trying to isolate the direction the sound came from. It seemed like it came from the north-west. There wasn’t anything in particular that he could think of in that area –

“The Farnsworth farm.” Ash said hurriedly as she came up beside him. “That’s where it’s probably heading.”

Obviously, Ash had done a lot more talking with people than Michael realised. Ash sheathed her sword and they were hurrying through the forest as fast as they could. It seemed to take forever to get to the Farnsworth house. The closer they got, the snarls of something feral were obvious, as were the sounds of people screaming. It prompted their steps and when they broke out from the trees, Michael wasn’t too sure of just what he was seeing.

Something that looked half-man and… half _wolf_ , was tearing at the front door of the Farnsworth house. The body looked slightly stretched out, and there was a thin layer of fur on that back. A yelp came from the wolf-man thing and it reared back from the door. There was a fork sticking out from its head but in that one moment, before it batted the eating implement away and continued trying to get into the house, he had seen the features.

They looked a bit distorted and strange, but it was Justin.

Ash was the first to react, quickly drawing her kabar knives. Michael hastily drew his sword as Ash gave the heavy blades a practiced flip, caught the blades and flung them.

The wolf-man – _no Justin_ , Michael told himself, the man had a damned name, despite his affliction – howled as the Ash’s kabar knives found their mark. Justin turned to face his new attacker. A snarl came to that face and Michael could only think, and wish, that it truly was a feral dog. He really wished he wasn’t looking at Justin and seeing a furred face with yellow eyes and a mouth full of teeth that looked like it belonged to a bear.

Justin snarled at them, using his changed hands to try and swat away the knives embedded in his shoulder and his thigh. It took him a second before he got them out. Michael felt a bit frozen as Justin stalked towards them, murderous intent gleaming in those yellow eyes. This was the same guy he bought a drink for and dragged back home to sleep it off?

This was a terrible time to feel sick to one’s stomach, Michael mused as Justin broke into a run towards them. One of those hands rose up, and Michael felt like he was seeing it in slow motion. The paw was stretched and distorted as well, looking like clawed fingers were trying to grow out of something that definitely belonged on an animal.

“Michael! Move!” Ash’s exclamation was accompanied by the ring of a sword being drawn.

That made him spring into action. Justin had the advantage of strength but he was uncoordinated and didn’t stand a chance. It was over in a few quick seconds. Ash ducked in under Justin’s sweeping attack, burying her makhaira right through a kidney. It seemed too perfect, the way Justin’s head went back in a howl of pain, his hands scrabbling at Ash’s coat, tearing it to strips.

When Michael brought his sword up in a sweeping motion, he tried to not think. Tried to not think that this had once been a person and his sword was now in the process of lopping off a head.

The howl abruptly ended as Michael’s sword finished its grisly work and Justin’s half changed head flew through the air from the force of the chop. It bounced along on the ground a bit before coming to a stop. Blood spurted from the neck wound and Michael danced back out of the way. Ash unfortunately couldn’t and shielded herself as much as she could against Justin’s body. When it sagged against Ash, she withdrew her blade and let the body fall to the ground. She was spattered in blood but looked triumphant. Michael looked away as he walked over to Justin’s head and crouched down. He grasped it by the hair and held it up to inspect it in the moonlight.

This was… this was a werewolf; there was no other way to explain it, to even quantify it. He had just decapitated a werewolf. But even as he looked at this head, he knew that when it came down to it, it would have either been him or Justin. Call Michael crazy, but he liked being alive a lot. When a hand rested on his shoulder, he looked up quickly. Ash was standing there, looking at him with understanding in her eyes.

“Do you want to go see if the Farnsworths have a shovel? We need to bury the body before it attracts scavengers.”

“Okay.”

That was Michael’s simple response before he stood. He placed the head with the body and went to the house. After getting a shovel from the grateful family, he set about digging a deep grave on the edge of the forest. He and Ash carried the body over before dumping it. He was about to start burying it when Ash stopped him. He watched as she walked back to the house and a few minutes later, returned with something in a flask and a small stick burning with a bright flame. When she opened the flask and poured it out over the body, the harsh scent of grain spirits reached his nose.

“Moonshine?” Michael didn’t bother to hide the surprise from his voice.

“Mmm-hmm,” Ash flicked out the rest before she tossed the stick on the body. It lit up fast and started burning. “If he’s a pile of ash, there’s no chance of something eating the flesh and catching the lycanthropy.”

“Isn’t it passed through bites? You know, spit and stuff?”

Ash shrugged, “Better safe than sorry.”

Michael wasn’t going to argue with her on that one. It took awhile for the body to reduce down to a pile of charred bones and a pile of ash. By the time Michael finished burying the body, the grey fingers of dawn were creeping across the sky. The Farnsworths had tried to get them to stay, but Michael insisted that they’d head back in to town.

En route back, Ash paused for a moment to collect Justin’s discarded clothes. He could see she was sizing up Justin’s jacket. Her own had been torn to shreds on the back. Almost everyone was still asleep when they finally got back into town. The air was still chill, but Michael managed to find a few rain barrels at the back of the Inn.

He helped Ash to strip out of her bloody clothes before picking her up and dumping her into the water. She spluttered and griped about the cold, but quickly washed off the blood. Michael was glad a lot of it didn’t get into her hair. When she got out, her hair seemed a bit pink to him, but that could have been the tiredness talking.

Ash had insisted on him trying to sleep when they got back to their room. It consisted of Michael lying in bed beside her, waiting for her to drift off to sleep. Thankfully, that didn’t take long. He couldn’t quite sleep yet, trying to figure out if there was something, _anything_ , else that could have been done that wouldn’t have necessitated Justin’s death. He scrubbed out Ash’s bloody clothes until they were clean and adjusted the hem on Justin’s old leather coat, raising it up a bit and taking it in a bit at the sides.

The only conclusion that Michael reached at the end of the day was that there wasn’t. A werewolf was a werewolf. It was a danger to everyone around them and it was better that they had killed it quickly and cleanly.

It also didn’t help that Ash would be so damned sanctimonious now. She had more than likely picked up on his scepticism since he’d joined her that night just over a month ago.

It just felt like such a paradigm shift to include werewolves in his known universe. Those sorts of things were always considered myth and legend. Now, he couldn’t help but wonder what else had been relegated to that realm that was actually flesh and blood.

When he got back to the Inn room later on that evening, carrying dinner and clean laundry, he found a furious Ash looking at him. But her expression changed when he gave her back her clothes and the hemmed jacket. They ate and afterwards Michael took a quick dunk in a rain barrel himself rather than having hot water brought up. When he came back up, the exhaustion from the past day and a half finally caught up with him.

He fell asleep the moment he climbed into bed.

When he woke up again, Ash happily informed him that he slept for two days straight. Michael didn’t doubt it for one bit. They spent the day getting fresh supplies and making sure that everything was ready for their departure. The Farnsworths had been busy at the gossip mill because it seemed to Michael that they couldn’t go five steps without someone thanking them.

Michael found it profoundly embarrassing but suffered through it with good grace. If Ash hadn’t been there to handle most of the talking, he was sure he would have seemed the fool.

Ash must have noticed because the next morning, she was waking him up before dawn. The sky was dark indigo when they strapped on their weapons, shrugged on their coats, grabbed their packs and hightailed it to the stable. Zeppelin and Impala were glad to see them and eager to get out again.

They left the town of Orion in the predawn light, without a soul to thank them. Michael felt immensely relieved. As the sky lightened, he tried to think of a tactful way to say it, but continually came up short. So after a bit he just cleared his throat and went for it.

“I’m sorry, Ash.”

“Hmm?” Ash looked over at him, pushing her hat up out of the way. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Michael rubbed the reins with his fingertips absently before adding. “I was wrong.”

Ash just blinked at him before saying, “You, Michael Dean Winchester, are willingly admitting that you’re wrong?”

A scowl came to Michael’s face when Ash leaned over to the side a bit, peering at the ground in curiosity. “No, hell hasn’t frozen over.”

“Oh,” Ash sounded completely innocent as she sat up properly in her saddle. “I thought I should check.”

There was a teasing tone to her voice, completely without malice. Michael watched her for a moment and tried to not smile from the sheer relief that flooded through him. At least this whole thing hadn’t become weird between them. He didn’t think he could handle that – the sniping at one another, the carefully worded sentences – again. It was too damned stressful.

“Tell me more.” Michael said suddenly.

“Of Sam and Dean?” Ash asked.

“What happened after Dean said yes and Sam decided to embark on his crazy plan?”

There was silence for a long moment before Ash finally spoke. “I guess you could call it the calm before a storm.”

__________________________________________________________________________

 _This quiet from Lucifer was truly making Dean worry. Michael, on the other hand, didn’t seem too bothered by it, gathering as much intelligence as he could from the angels. Most of the other angels had reported in already and fully accepted Michael as their unequivocal leader. The absence of Zachariah and an angel by the name of Jophiel spoke volumes to Dean. Michael had concurred with this as well._

 _Of course, they could be snubbing Michael for directly promoting Castiel ahead of them. Dean didn’t know how all this angel stuff worked, but who would have thought Castiel attempting to find God would have won him major points. Hell, he wouldn’t have thought Michael himself would have been off looking for God as well._

 _As far as Dean knew, Michael was processing the intelligence data somehow with that super-smart, eighteen dimension brain of his so –_

 _ **“Do you normally think so vocally?”** Michael’s voice thrummed with barely concealed annoyance. **“It’s hard to concentrate with your droning.”**_

 _Dean had a smartass reply. He truly did. But Castiel chose that moment to appear. The other angel looked haggard, as if he had spent far too long running around. Of course, that could just be the state of his vessel’s body._

 _Castiel didn’t waste any time when he said, “Lucifer has one of the special children with him.”_

 _That made Michael come up short. **“Jesse?”**_

 _“No,” Castiel shook his head before saying the last name Dean ever expected to hear. “Jake Talley.”_

 _Castiel handed over a picture. Sure enough, that was Jake Talley’s face that was there. Dean could feel the confusion in Michael’s mind. Christ, did all the angels lump together the poor kids Azazel messed with into one basket? Jake Talley was the one who had killed Sam and opened the Devil’s Gate. But then Dean made that deal with the Crossroad Demon to bring Sam back. The last time Dean saw Jake Talley, Sam had been emptying out a clip of bullets into him with a look of pure cold rage on his face._

 _Now even more confusion came Dean’s way. Obviously Jake Talley was dead and should still **be** dead. He had been dead for almost three years now. That was too long for someone to bring him back without major angelic power being needed. His corpse would have been half rotted._

 _That was a mental image Dean didn’t need. There was something about this that didn’t seem right. It had Ruby’s stink all over it in Dean’s opinion. Michael remained silent for a moment, looking at the picture in his hand._

 _“If I may speak,” Castiel paused before saying, “there is something about this that doesn’t seem right. Given how long Jake was dead his suitability as a Sword was rendered null and void. But how is he back now? This seems like the working of Azazel or possibly his protégé, Ruby,”_

 _Dean could sing from the vindication and then Castiel said something else._

 _“We should kill him now.”_

 _Castiel’s words sat heavy in the air and Michael regarded the other angel for a long moment. Michael was weighing something in his mind, Dean could feel it. Personally, Dean was all for killing that Talley bastard before he wrought any more trouble. Michael, well Dean wasn’t getting a clear reading on him._

 _Finally Michael said, **“I need you to bring Jake Talley here.”**_

 _Castiel didn’t say anything, just inhaled a bit and pressed his lips together a bit more. Dean didn’t know if Michael was at all familiar with Castiel’s body language, but now Castiel was all but saying that’s a **really** bad idea. There was a definite sense of amusement from Michael and then he said,_

 _  
**“You think it’s a bad idea.”**   
_

_“Yes.” Castiel simply stated._

 _Michael nodded his head before he said, **“I don’t like it much. But if Lucifer brought him back, then it’s not without a reason. We need to know why before we really do anything. Even we can’t easily bring back someone who has been dead for that long. We need to talk to him to discern what Lucifer is planning.”**_

 _Castiel didn’t look too thrilled, but at least he’d gotten an explanation. It’s more than Zachariah ever gave them. All Castiel did was nod his head before he disappeared. All Dean could think was that this seriously wouldn’t end well, Castiel having to find this Talley guy._

 _  
**“O ye of little faith,”**   
_

_Dean found himself a little bit surprised that Michael was quoting freaking Jesus Christ to him. Then again, maybe he should have been expecting something like this._

 _  
**“Everything happens for a reason, I find.”**   
_

_Dean knew the point Michael was trying to drive home. Thing was Dean had plenty of faith before some certain events decided to rip that down to shreds. That it had been happening since he was a child didn’t make it any better to Dean. But Dean couldn’t shake the feeling, which would have been in his gut that this wasn’t going to go well._

__________________________________________________________________________

“Sweet merciful Hallelujah, we’re here.”

Ash could have laughed at the relief in Michael’s voice. The sprawling town of Cold Oak was bustling through the early afternoon. Getting here hadn’t been a rushed affair since they left Orion. They let the horses set their own pace and here they were on the fifth day. This town was a far different cry from Orion, with its single main street. Cold Oak had one main street, but smaller streets fissured off, lined with houses. If she had to guess, Ash would have pegged the town population at about fifteen hundred. Maybe it was closer to two thousand.

This massive press of people seemed impossible. She was used to Lawrence and the other four hundred people that lived there. She pretty much knew them all. But this place… there was something about all these people crammed into one town that made her feel uneasy. Maybe she was used to all that space and knowing just who was around her. A glance over at Michael showed that he was looking around constantly, taking it all in. There wasn’t a single trace of apprehension on his face.

It wasn’t until the Order of Winchester buildings came into sight that she felt relief and calm curl through her. By the time they were in the stables, seeing Zeppelin and Impala into stalls, she felt much more at ease. They’re shown to their room. It had two beds this time and Ash grinned. Michael, though he would deny it, managed to hog almost all the bed space. Michael was busy stowing their things away under the beds after pulling out the supplies for their weapons.

She couldn’t explain it; but right now she’d rather be anywhere else. Sitting in a room and going over their supplies and stuff… hell, Michael could do that. He’d always been doing that, since he’d insisted on joining her in this. She got up from her bed.

“Where are you going?” Michael asked as he rummaged around in a pack.

“Just going to walk around and check out the place.” Ash shrugged loosely.

Michael looked at her for a moment before he nodded. “Just leave whatever weapons you have that need maintenance.”

She snorted. When Michael had been asleep for almost two days straight that was all she had done. Checked over her blades, checked over his, tested them and then further sharpened what needed it. They had seen action and she wanted to be sure the blades were keen if they needed to be used again. Michael’s sword had taken the most work. But then again, he had lopped off a werewolf’s head. She unbuckled her sword and makhairas, but left her kabars on.

“Want me to come and find you when it’s dinner time?” she asked as she headed for the room door.

“Thank you. That would be great.”

Michael flashed a momentary smile at her before he picked up her sword by the scabbard and started inspecting it. She left the room, closing the door behind her with a smile on her own face. Then she shoved her hands in the overly large pockets of her new jacket and started walking. This particular Order of Winchester building could be called a fortress. Not that the people in town were calling it that. But given the sheer size of it, she couldn’t help but think it was designed to shelter people and withstand some sort of disaster.

This theory of hers was reinforced when she managed to find the ridiculously large courtyard. There was a well there and when she walked, it would have taken a blind person to miss all the edible, blooming plants. Sunflowers, carrot tops in partial bloom, the curly vines of peas with growing pods and tomato vines with swelling green fruit… this courtyard was a larder, plain and simple. She started walking through, wondering what else was hidden in this building. A loud curse made her reach for her knife, but she stopped when she saw a woman rise up from the vines of vegetables.

“Damned slugs.”

Ash tried to not chuckle as the woman wiped at her brow and scowled down at the ground. She cleared her throat and stepped up. “Got beer?”

“Beer?” the woman looked at her. “A drink isn’t going to help at this time.”

“No, you put it out in little bowls. It attracts the slugs.”

Realisation dawned on the woman’s face. “That must be what Brother Jared uses all the time! You pick them off. I’ll be right back.”

The woman was off before Ash could really say anything. Fifteen minutes later when the woman came back, Ash was crouched down among the peas and tomatoes, picking off brown, slimy slugs. The bowls were placed down and filled up. It only took a few minutes before the remaining slugs made a direct, if slow, beeline for the bowls.

“I’ll be damned. That asshole must have enjoyed watching me squirm.” The woman grinned and offered a hand. “I’m Helen.”

“Ash,” Ash took the hand and pulled herself up. “You haven’t been gardening long have you?”

“Nah, just started, finally got rotated out from the library. I felt like I wasn’t getting enough sun. You know,” Helen shrugged. “Thanks for helping me. You’re a new face here.”

“I’m on pilgrimage,” Ash dusted her hands before wiping them on her pants. “I’ve been travelling with my friend since about the beginning of March.”

Helen’s eyebrows rose. “You two have been on the road for awhile, longer than usual. Most people get here in under a month.”

“We got sidetracked a bit,” Ash clarified, “werewolf in Orion.”

“Ah, that would explain it.” Helen nodded her head.

Ash nodded her head, looking at Helen for a long moment. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. But I need a seat. My knees are fucking _killing_ me from all that kneeling. Jared’s going to get his, mark my words.”

Ash listened as Helen rambled. They found a stone bench and sat down on it. Then Helen turned to look at her.

“So what is it?”

“The Rite of Enshroudment, do you know what that is precisely?”

Helen’s eyes just about popped out of her head. “You want to undergo _that_ rite?”

“I’ve been giving it some thought since I left Shiloh,” Ash paused for a moment. “Shouldn’t I have every edge possible? Utilise every weapon to the fullest?”

“What about your partner?” Helen ventured.

“He thought I was a bit nuts until he lopped off the werewolf’s head.”

Helen snorted. “Isn’t that always the way?”

“So he’ll come around in a bit. Me… doing this feels right to me. I can’t really explain it better than that. It feels like this is something I was born to do. Not to stay in a house and farm, raising a brood of squawking children.”

There was no response from Helen, save silence. Then, after a moment, Helen spoke.

“The rite isn’t something to be undertaken lightly. It’s long, it’s intensive and people are different afterwards.”

That piqued Ash’s curiosity. “What is it exactly?”

As Helen talked, all Ash did was sit there and listen intently.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Things became quieter after dinner. Michael was used to that pattern. The day was winding down and people were taking care of little things before seeking their beds. That is, of course, unless you were one Ash Kozel. He hadn’t seen hide or hair of her since dinner. It was as if she had managed to find the most secreted corner in the building and wasn’t making a single sound until she was ready.

Michael had finished with their weapons and had been hoping to cajole more of the tale of the Winchesters from her. So far, it looked like he’d be going to bed without having anything answered.

His wandering covered most of the lower floor and his search brought him past the chapel once again. It was the same size as the chapel back in Lawrence. This time though, there was a man sitting on one of the pews, just contemplating a painting.

It was a bit more dynamic than the one in Lawrence, but just as grim and sombre. The background was cold and grey with dead bodies littering the ground in the shape of a pentagram. There’s a strange looking mausoleum and in front of it a white man and a black man are locked in some kind of mortal struggle, each one of them armed. He shifted, leaning against the doorway as he studied it. Definitely a power struggle of some kind, but there didn’t seem to be a visual clue of what prompted it.

“Are you looking for someone?”

The voice made Michael look over to see a man sitting in a pew looking at him. “Ah, no. She’s not here…”

“Brother Josse.”

Michael inclined his head slightly and repeated the name. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

“It’s not a problem,” Josse waved off his concern. “I was just contemplating the painting. It’s called ‘The Trials of Azazel.’ It seemed like a good, quiet time to come here and not be interrupted.”

“Sorry,” Michael took a hasty step back. “I didn’t mean to –”

“That’s all right. Some company would be appreciated. I was starting to nod off.”

Michael wasn’t too sure what to say to that. “So, you’re on pilgrimage too?”

There was a laugh at that. Josse shook his head and went back to studying the painting for a moment. Michael walked in closer, unsure of what sort of divine mysteries Josse thought this painting would reveal to him.

After a few minutes he shrugged and admitted, “Art’s not really my thing.”

“Look closely. Look in the upper left corner. What do you see?”

Michael frowned as he looked. He didn’t really see anything except for, “Looks like it could be wings or something like that. A bird?”

Josse shook his head. “Bottom right corner?”

“Uh,” when Michael looked, he saw this one. “I can’t really tell. It looks human shaped. But it’s got those yellow eyes. It’s Azazel.”

“Precisely. And everything has an opposite, well, so to speak.”

That made Michael pause. Something opposite to a demon, well technically a fallen angel? What on earth could that… he walked closer to the painting, scrutinising the upper left corner again. There were definitely the faint lines of a wing, almost swallowed by the dark clouds. Michael didn’t like the implication of that. He looked back at Josse.

“Surely Heaven didn’t – ”

“Heaven had a long history of doing just that,” Josse opened the book on his lap. “‘And so, with grievous wounds within his belly, did Dean look upon the face of Zachariah with loathing for the angel was nothing less than a dick.’ Heaven even tortured the blessed Dean and Sam for a bit to try and get Dean to agree to become the Archangel Michael’s vessel.”

That surprised Michael. No wonder Dean had outright refused for so long and agreed only after Sam was possessed. “So Heaven isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.”

“No. During that turbulent time, Heaven was conflicted. Some wanted to stop Lucifer from escaping Hell. Others wanted to see him free, for their own ends,” Josse flipped through the Gospel of Chuck again. “‘Zachariah did gaze upon Dean and proclaim, ‘The Apocalypse shall come. Only then will you kill Lucifer and usher in the age of paradise on Earth’.”

Michael looked back at Josse in surprise. “Heaven _let_ the apocalypse happen?”

“Yes. This,” Josse gestured to the painting with a hand. “This was all a precursor to it. This was the battle between Sam Winchester and a Jake Talley. They didn’t know it at the time, but the victor was intended to be Lucifer’s Sword.”

“God, that’s just…” Michael trailed off as he sat down on the pew beside Josse. He was honestly at a loss for words.

“It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? During this entire time, during everything Dean and Sam went through before the apocalypse, Heaven simply watched,” Josse pointed to the upper right corner of the painting. “There are many who think that the angel who was watching was none other than Castiel.”

“Castiel? Do you think he was watching at the time because it was the Winchesters?”

“Probably. We don’t know for sure. It’s kind of assumed from the gospels. Castiel says some things that do make one wonder.”

Michael was silent, thinking over what Josse told him. It sounded like this Castiel had some serious personal interest in the Winchesters. The angel was considered fallen and rebellious by his fellow angels until he found Michael and brought him to Dean. His vague recollections from flipping through the Gospel of Chuck, it all pointed to Castiel being tied up with the Winchesters in an irrevocable manner.

“Was Castiel the one who saved the Winchesters from Zachariah’s, uh, persuasion?” Michael watched as Josse closed the book and rested his hands on it.

“Yes, Castiel was. Considering Castiel died and was somehow brought back, I think that was what prompted him to look for God. Not that I can speak for an angel.”

Michael nodded his head. “The person I’m travelling with, they’re reading about the apocalypse to me. She started because I was so sceptical at first.”

“What changed that, if you don’t mind me asking?” Josse watched him.

“Werewolf... I had to kill a man who had changed and was attacking a family,” Michael shrugged. “I guess I should feel guiltier about it, but I don’t. I did what I had to do and I’m alive because of it. A whole family is alive. I find it kind of hard to feel bad about that.”

“Hmm. Well, considering there isn’t a cure for lycanthropy, I would say you did well. You’re taking to this better than some others I’ve seen on pilgrimage. One hunt is enough for them and they decide to go back home. Don’t want anything else to do with the life.”

“I have my reasons.”

“Fair enough,” Josse stifled a yawn and shifted in the pew. “But back to the topic of Castiel, he became a big part of the apocalypse. He is sometimes referred to as the Archangel’s Right Hand.”

That was a name for the angel Michael hadn’t heard before. “Why’s that?”

“What part did your narrator end at?”

“Ah,” the fledgling Hunter thought back. “Michael had ordered Castiel to find Jake Talley and bring him back.”

Josse nodded his head, “Just before the start of the Apocalypse. That’s good. Then I’ll tell you what happened when Castiel found Jake Talley and brought him back.”

__________________________________________________________________________

 _When Castiel returned, almost a month had passed. There hadn’t been a single thing from Lucifer. The demons were surprisingly quiet and all Dean could think was that Lucifer was planning something big and didn’t want any information to get back to the angels. However, when Castiel returned, even Dean was surprised._

 _Castiel returned with a bound and bloody Jake Talley._

 _They were in the middle of a field and Dean almost wished for a room with a chair and a table. Michael didn’t seem too bothered by the lack of anything barring grass. Castiel brought Jake before them and made him kneel. Dean could feel Michael’s worry when Jake looked up at them with a cocky smirk and his eyes weren’t black. No, those eyes that had been brown once were now a light yellow, as if it was a mockery of the colour of sunshine. Michael started walking around Jake. The large cuffs binding Jake’s hands behind his back were a pale ivory colour, bone Dean realised, and the sigils carved into them glowed with a sullen green colour._

 _Castiel looked like he’d been through the wringer as well. Michael ordered him away to see to something over in central Europe. Dean felt sure that Michael gave Castiel some simple thing to do in order to recuperate a bit. Dean’s also sure that Michael wanted to be alone when he talked to Jake Talley._

 _“Hey y’all,” Jake drawled. The scabs on his lips cracked and blood started oozing out. “You sure know how to show a fellow a good time.”_

 _Michael didn’t say anything in response, simply coming to a stop in front of Jake and looking at him. Even the very feel of the air around him was corrupted. Dean had never been happier to be able to see what Michael was seeing. It was as if the very air was writhing away from Jake, creating some kind of negative space. It coated Jake in a thin film, like a sheer cover of nothingness._

 _There’s a long moment of silence before Michael finally spoke. **“How do you live?”**_

 _“I breathe in and out. You?” Jake asked._

 _Michael wasn’t amused and before Dean even realised it, Michael was doing something. Whatever it was, it caused Jake to gasp hoarsely and collapse to the grass, squirming and writhing, trying to get away from something. Michael let whatever was happening continue as he crouched down and grabbed Jake’s chin._

 _ **“You think expanding bones are the least of what I can do?”** Michael dragged Jake’s chin around to stare him in the eye. **“I don’t want to see how much you’d swell up if your blood literally boils.”**_

 _At that point, Jake’s strong self-preservation instinct kicked in and he choked out, “Ruby. That’s how I’m alive.”_

 _ **“What did she do?”** Michael pressed._

 _Jake shook his head and coughed blood right onto Michael’s face. Those expanding bones must have punctured something inside that body. Michael didn’t wipe the blood off, still keeping his grip on Jake’s face as his body thrashed. After a moment, Dean could sense the hesitant reluctance and then Jake’s body stopped thrashing. Michael must have stopped his bones from expanding. Even now Jake’s body looked strange, like someone took an air pump to his skeleton and started working away at the handle._

 _But then Jake clammed up. It took Michael a few more inventive tricks. Blood boiling, skin slowly being peeled away layer by layer, slow disintegration… it took a while for Jake to talk._

 _“When you killed her,” Jake spat out from between bloody lips. “When Dean killed her. That was the catalyst.”_

 _That made precious little sense to Dean. Michael, it felt like Michael had a nagging suspicion but needed to confirm it. **“How was her death the catalyst?”**_

 _“Before she came up from hell, she performed a ritual,” Jake paused for a bit, his breath wheezing and gurgling in his chest. “Her death would mean the resurrection of my body. The one you call the Crossroads demon,” he paused again, the wheeze and gurgle sounding worse. “They did something. The moment Dean killed Ruby; I was back topside, courtesy of a VIP pass.”_

 _Dean officially hated that backstabbing demon bitch even more right now. He should have buried that knife in her guts when she showed back up in a new body. There was a vague sense of wry amusement from Michael before the angel focused on Jake again._

 _  
**“Why did Lucifer not recruit you to his side?”**   
_

_“You crazy? I’m topside for the first time in over six centuries. Like hell I want to follow Lucifer around,” Jake paused again before he managed, “You want to fix some ribs? Kind of hard to talk when they stab you in the lungs.”_

 _There was a definite sense of vindictive amusement when Dean picked up on the fact that Michael didn’t give a flying crap about that. **“Answer the question.”**_

 _“I’ve been lying low since Lucifer got out. I was supposed to be a back-up body. But I figured if I laid low for awhile, he’d work over Sam and get his Sword.”_

 _Anger was starting to work its way through Michael now. Jake still hadn’t answered the question, he’d been stalling for some reason. It felt like a cold icy fire was gripping the angel and Dean was honestly glad he’s not on the receiving end of it. Michael tightened his grip on Jake’s chin. The bone felt like it was starting to crack under Michael’s grip._

 _ **“I’ll ask a slightly different question: why did you not join Lucifer?”** Michael repeated once more._

 _A wracking cough made Jake convulse. It came in waves, interspersed with moments of Jake trying to breathe deeply and catch his breath. Michael was puzzled by Jake’s reaction. It took Dean a few minutes to realise that Jake was **laughing** at them. Michael moved like lightning, standing up, with Jake still in his grasp._

 _All Jake managed to rasp out was, “Found you.”_

 _It all clicked then and annoyance from Michael flooded Dean’s mind. Jake let himself be captured and brought here. He was a damn homing beacon for Lucifer. The reason why Lucifer was so quiet was because he didn’t know what Heaven had planned. And he didn’t know that because Castiel had etched the Enochian sigils on Dean’s bones that rendered the body invisible._

 _And it worked both ways. Lucifer wasn’t quiet, he couldn’t be seen. Sam had those same markings etched on his bones as well._

 _Then, it felt like the world was screaming. It was a harsh and grating dissonance across Dean’s soul and it felt like it was going to tear him apart with its agony. Then there’s a flash of white that made Michael turn to look._

 _Lucifer was there, gazing at him from Sam’s body. There was a pitying light in those eyes and Dean felt a sharp clutch of rage, sorrow and agony at seeing that… body again._

 _It didn’t help that Lucifer was coming right at him, fist drawn back. Michael moved, leaping back and flinging Jake in Lucifer’s path. It worked. Lucifer stopped up short, catching Jake’s broken body._

 _Then Lucifer just stood there, holding Jake. Blood was seeping into that once immaculate white suit, but Lucifer didn’t seem to care. Michael knew he’d been had when Lucifer simply smiled at him and gave him a casual two-fingered salute before disappearing, that same dissonance lingering._

 _Fuck, was the only thing Dean could think of._

 _Michael didn’t bother to hide the annoyance from his voice when he said, **“That damned well sums it up.”**_

__________________________________________________________________________


	4. Chapter 4

Five days. That was how long they were in Cold Oak before heading out again. After talking to Helen, Ash asked to speak to someone in charge. An hour later, she found herself lying face down on a stone slab, with small pricks of pain working across her back and Helen sitting beside her. The wood tool they used was sharp and by the time she was helped up, she was feeling kind of fuzzy from the pain. Helen took her back to her room and helped her.

Ash wasn’t too sure what happened but she must have fallen asleep. When she opened her eyes again, the light coming in from the small window was faint and the sky darker. A quick look around and she found Michael sitting on his bed and watching her. He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t griped at her. He simply held up a jar of salve and told her to lie back down as he rubbed it onto her back. She’d done so. The only thing Michael had done was ask what she had done exactly.

The fuzziness was still clinging to her mind, but she was sure she told him the name of the rite. He’d probably asked something else, but that fuzzy feeling combined with the circular motion of his hand on her back knocked her right back into sleep.

He didn’t ask the next day.

And even now eight days later, with four of those days spent on the trail, he still wasn’t asking. Ash wasn’t going to worry about it too much. They had a long stretch of travelling ahead of them. It was bound to come up again one night at the campfire.

The upside she could see to travelling now was that spring had definitely come and everything was green and growing. They could supplement their rations with whatever they could catch and gather from the land. The land wasn’t as flat or as open as it had been after Lawrence, the trees making a thin forest. Even between the tree trunks, she could see the remains of the old buildings. The strange edifices were nearly covered with leafy green vines, slivers of grey barely visible. There wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that any manner of things were creeping through the vines.

Maybe they’d fix up something fresh for dinner. She was kind of getting tired of jerky, dried fruit and hardtack. If they could find a rabbit, maybe some wild herbs if they were lucky and some roots –

“Can I ask you something?”

She looked over at Michael, pushing thoughts of dinner from her mind. “Yeah?”

“Sheer curiosity is making me ask this, so don’t think otherwise,” Michael began. “But you seemed to take the Winchester Gospels at their word very quickly, your empirical evidence aside.”

“…Okay.” Ash fought down the grin. Michael just had to use big words. “And?”

“Well, why?”

She had been wondering when _this_ particular question would come up. Michael could contemplate something for what seemed like ages and take his own sweet time reaching his own conclusions. “Think about it. The Bible was written over two thousand years ago. Some people take the Bible as a truth that was written yesterday. But a new gospel that was written only three hundred years ago is treated like a fairy tale? I sure didn’t see Moses part the Red Sea, but some people will swear it actually happened. But tell them that two brothers brought on and ended the apocalypse and it’s dismissed?” She stopped at that, with a snort and a shake of her head. That was something she still couldn’t wrap her head around.

“Collective denial? Maybe it happened too recently,” Michael suggested. “And given how chaotic it must have been at the time, I wouldn’t be surprised. It didn’t get better after Detroit was obliterated, did it?”

Ash confirmed it with a shake of her head. “No. Things just deteriorated after that. Oh, you don’t know that. Uh, where did I last leave off with you?”

“It’s okay. I found Brother Josse in the chapel and he told me. We were discussing the painting there.”

“The painting?” That was a new one to Ash.

Michael nodded his head. “The Order buildings have paintings in the chapel. They depict key moments in the Winchesters lives it seems. The last one was of the Trials of Azazel.”

“Really?” Ash now felt like an idiot for spending their last two days in Cold Oak buried in the library, reading up on more exorcism rituals and expanding her knowledge of the things that went bump in the night. “I would have loved to see it.”

“It was something. And –”

Michael’s words were cut off when Impala suddenly started, huffing and whinnying. A few seconds later, Zeppelin was doing the same. Ash leaned forward and rubbed Zeppelin on the neck, making soothing sounds until the horse settled down. She frowned as she looked back up, realizing she was downwind from Michael. Something was coming towards them from his side. He was looking towards the tree line.

That was when she noticed the posture of his horse was different. Michael had a firm grip on the reins as Impala’s head turned to the forest. The horse’s ears were pricked forward and those hooves were pawing at the ground, leaving gouges in it. Zeppelin was trying to sidestep away, but Ash pulled on the reins. Whatever was in the forest had her horse spooked out. But Michael’s horse… his horse seemed –

“Do you hear that?” Michael’s voice was low and intent as he pulled on the reins, making Impala face the forest completely.

Ash strained her ears but all she heard was the wind and… oh, no, there was a voice being carried. It sounded like it was yelling and screaming in a panic. Something was hunting a person in the forest. Gritting her teeth, she looked about for the closest place to tie her reins to something. The moment Zeppelin was free, the horse would bolt and she didn’t care to spend the rest of her day tracking down her spooked horse. Not to mention the potential for predators and lost supplies.

The yelling and screaming was drawing closer now. With it came the feral sounds of grunting and snarls that she had heard only once. The person was being hunted by Croats.

She’d been too young at the time, only two, but she remembered hearing the tales of it. A Croat infestation had taken root out in the mountains by the Mosely place. And it had been spreading down. The families in the area had taken up arms, but by then the thirty Croats had made it to the farmland. She remembered the sounds of something snuffling around outside the house. It had been her and Elijah at the time. She had climbed into Elijah’s crib and lay beside him before the sounds of fighting had come, interspersed with the screams of attacking Croats.

Croats were something few and far between now, the single reminder that the great Cataclysm had happened. It was said that Croats lurked in the deepest part of the forest and woe unto anyone damned dumb enough to go that deep into a forest.

Ash still looked around and realised that her panicked horse had rendered her all but useless. She’d have to dismount, fight the Croats on foot and then try to find Zeppelin afterwards. Not the best of scenarios and –

The yelling and screaming finally reached them. A man, red-faced and gasping for breath, broke from the tree cover. Once his gaze landed on them, he changed direction. And right from behind him, two people burst out from the trees. Their sickly grey skin looked dry in the sunlight, but the red blood staining their faces and clothes looked moist enough.

She easily dismounted and prepared to let go of the reins when Michael surprised the hell out of her.

He drew his sword and kicked Impala in the ribs with a “Yah!” Impala sprang forward as if the fence gate was gone. She stared as Impala charged and Michael brought his sword down in low. As soon as they bolted past the man, it was over in a matter of seconds. Michael’s sword was rammed through a Croat’s chest, impaling them to the ground. Impala reared up, hooves flashing and they left brutal hoof-shaped impressions on the second Croat’s upper torso and neck. The neck was broken with one strong lashing from a front leg.

When Impala finally settled down, Michael dismounted and walked up to the impaled Croat. He kicked it once in the head, temporarily dazing it before he jerked out his sword and lopped off its head. The second Croat, even though its neck was broken, got the exact same treatment.

The man fleeing from the Croats came to a stop in front of her, gasping for breath. She glanced at him for a moment before looking back to the Croats with their bloody faces and clothes. She kept one hand firm on Zeppelin’s reins and drew her sword with the other hand and levelled it at the man.

“Really?” he managed, hands on his knees. “You’re really doing this?”

“Those Croats had fresh blood on them. I’m about to do worse. Strip.”

The man’s eyes just about popped out of his head. He stood up straight, still breathing heavily. “Normally, I’d oblige a pretty girl but,” he paused for a moment as Ash moved the tip of her sword closer to him. “Okay, stripping.”

Zeppelin was pretty antsy and Ash made sure to keep the horse close beside her. The man dropped his pack and quickly stripped down to just his underwear. After a quick order from her to turn, he did just that. His skin was unbroken, no evidence of open, bloody wounds or anything like that. The man was still clean.

“Sorry about that,” Ash said as she re-sheathed her sword. “You can’t be too careful with Croats. I’ve heard stories of people hiding bite marks and then it’s the same damned problem all over again.”

“Oh, none taken,” the man grinned at her before picking up his pants and pulling them on. “It’s not every day a pretty girl holds you at sword point and demands all your clothes off. Granted, if it had ended differently… I can’t say I’d be opposed.”

“I say I would be and you’d lose your balls in the process. So let’s not go there, hmm?” Ash reached up and patted Zeppelin on the neck before rubbing.

“Works for me,” the man pulled on his shirt and robe.

Ash just nodded her head and headed over to where Michael was wiping off the worst of the blood from his sword on the Croats’ ragged clothing. She just stared at him unsure of what exactly to say. That was a side of him she’d never truly seen before. A glimmer of it was seen during the werewolf incident at the Farnsworth place in Orion, but this had been Michael as a warrior. Where had the bookish friend disappeared to?

“Hey Rambo,” she said as she drew nearer. “Need a hand?”

Michael looked up at her, startled. Then his face flushed bright red in embarrassment. “Uh, yes please. I want to see these Croats burned and buried before we have to continue on.”

Ash reached into her pack and drew a stake out, hobbling Zeppelin close to where Impala stood placidly. She stripped off her jacket and walked over to a thin patch of grass and started digging with her hands. Michael took a bit longer cleaning off bits of stuff from his sword. By the time she had a shallow depression dug out, Michael seemed temporarily satisfied with the state of his blade. He left it naked though, tying the pommel tightly to his belt with a piece of thick string from his pocket. There were still smears of blood and bits of things that hadn’t come off easily.

They rolled the Croat bodies into the spot and Ash went back to her pack and pulled out her tinderbox. She had, in all honesty, forgotten about the man there. When his gaze spotted the tinderbox, he hurried forward, grabbing her wrist.

“Don’t burn the bodies.” His voice was low and urgent. “That spreads the disease.”

Nothing was said for a moment as Ash looked at the man hard, trying to figure out if there was any subterfuge in his words. She couldn’t pick up on anyhow ever. There was no denying that she would have felt better making sure nothing was left, but something told her that this man wasn’t lying. She had heard stories of animals not going near a Croat’s body, not even to scavenge. With a nod of her head, she tucked the tinderbox in her pocket. Burning the bodies would have halted the spread of disease in her opinion, but who knew how the Croatoan disease was passed on. She glanced at Michael, who didn’t seem thrilled.

“Let’s get going,” Michael finally turned away from the decapitated bodies. “Your horse is still anxious and I’d rather not be here if there are more Croats lurking around.”

That was an entirely valid point. Ash walked over to her horse, taking the reins before pulling up the stake. “We’ve still got a good amount of daylight.”

That was all the prompting Michael seemed to need. Ash mounted up, looking at the man who was eyeing the forest warily. After a moment, she sighed heavily and jerked a thumb towards her horse. Zeppelin wasn’t thrilled when the man managed to get himself on. She patted the horse’s neck before urging him into a slow canter. The more ground they covered then the safer they should be tonight.

Nothing else was said and the terrain passed by, sometimes at a brisk pace and sometimes slowly. The forest slowly disappeared and the trees thinned out until there was scraggly undergrowth that had been choked out by thick green vines of some kind. As the sun sank and night approached, Ash figured they had covered about thirty miles today. There would be more than enough space between them and any possible Croats that were back in that patch of forest. Even so, she dismounted and looked around. Michael did the same, coming to stand beside her.

“We need to find cover tonight,” he murmured, leaning in closer to her. “Sleeping anywhere exposed –”

Ash nodded her head as she added, “Would just be plain stupid. I didn’t see any Old Ways buildings around in this area.”

“Me neither,” Worry was etched onto Michael’s face. “It would be the most secure, but I think we’re sleeping out in the open.”

That wasn’t something Ash wanted to hear, but there was no avoiding it. She gave a brief nod of her head and looked back at the man. The whole day had passed and she hadn’t even bothered to get his name. Bang-up job she was doing.

“We’re done travelling for the day,” she sounded gruffer than she intended. “Off my horse and we’ll eat something and then bunk down.”

“Here?” the man looked between her and Michael like they were crazy. “In the middle of nowhere?”

Ash took the packs off Zeppelin. “If you see anywhere safe to sleep, by all means point it out. We’ll check it out and then happily sleep there.”

The man was silent before he conceded with, “Point taken.”

She didn’t say anything as the man slid off. They ended up making camp fairly close to the scraggly trees. Michael set up the highline and Ash measured out a good length of lead rope before attaching it to the horses’ harnesses. The sharp pop of something made her look back. The man had made a fire somehow, in the space of a few minutes. But she didn’t say anything, just finished up with the horses. When they sat down by the fire, making sure their packs were close by, the silence was awkward for all of a minute before the man cleared his throat.

“Thanks for, you know, saving me. The name’s Gatuluk.” He inclined his head.

“He’s Michael. I’m Ash.” Ash replied easily. “And you might want to direct your thanks to him.”

Gatuluk looked at Michael now. “My thanks to you. It’s nice to not end up as a Croat’s dinner.”

“You’re welcome. How about dinner? It’s just basics, nothing too fancy tonight.” Michael asked.

Gatuluk nodded his head in agreement. As Michael started pulling things out from their pack, Ash watched him for a few minutes. When the jerky and hardtack were being passed around, she spoke.

“So what exactly is it that you do, Gatuluk?” She took her portion before handing the last over to the man in question.

“I’m a travelling priest. Christian, if it matters.” Gatuluk took the rations from her. “I was taking a shortcut through the forest to try and save time. Stupid idea.”

“Phenomenally stupid,” Michael added before ripping off a piece of jerky and chewing it slowly.

Gatuluk looked surprised at that but Ash shrugged and said, “He’s right. You should know about the dangers of the forest. If we weren’t there, you’d be a bloody smear on the ground.”

There was a moment of silence as Gatuluk just stared at them. “You two don’t waste words do you?”

“What’s the point?” Ash ate a hasty mouthful of dried fruit before continuing. “So you’re a Christian priest, huh? Why are you travelling?”

“Wanted to see the world,” Gatuluk turned over his hardtack, examining it, “Had enough of studying and being closed in. You may not have noticed, but the Christian church is turning insular again.”

“Again?” Ash blinked. Religion had never really been her thing.

Gatuluk took a quick bite of jerky as he nodded his head. When he finished chewing, he continued. “Before the Cataclysm, the church was split, fractured into many denominations. By the time the Cataclysm was over, the church was barely left intact. Most decided to band together. Other denominations died out.”

“Such as?”

“Ever seen anyone proclaiming to be a Jehovah’s Witness? Latter-Day Saint?” Gatuluk asked.

Ash shrugged. “I was busy enough with life. I never gave a flying crap about someone’s denomination. Don’t see how it matters anyhow.”

Gatuluk gave a sharp laugh at that before he stopped, looking around. Ash did the same, but there was just the darkness creeping across the sky and the stars coming out. Michael was finishing the last of his rations. She dug into the pack and pulled out their weapons care supplies. All it took was a prod to the ribs and a, “Fork it over.” She glanced up at Gatuluk as Michael unbuckled and handed over his sword for cleaning, still gnawing on the hardtack. The other man was watching Michael before his gaze shifted back to her.

“He’s not very talkative, is he?”

“He’ll take the midnight watch,” Ash said as she put her food on the ground beside her. “I’ve got the first one. You get the honour of the early morning one.”

“I’m a morning person anyway.” Gatuluk tried to break off a piece of hardtack and swore. “Christ, this thing made out of bricks or what?”

Ash gave a dry laugh. “That’s why you gnaw it. I personally don’t like the feeling of trying to lever a piece off and feeling like I might’ve broken a tooth. That’s something I don’t want to live with.”

Gatuluk remained silent for a moment, turning the square over in his hands, and then, “So back to the church, yeah?”

“Yeah.” That was all Ash offered in way of a reply.

“Everybody’s in one boat and trying to make it work. Only people aren’t buying it anymore. What with the Cataclysm and everything. It was actually the Apocalypse, but hey the word ‘cataclysm’ is much easier to deal with.”

“The older religious texts spoke of something called the Rapture,” Michael said before he stretched his arms and yawned. Obviously someone was done eating dinner. “The second coming of Christ; it never happened.”

“Depends on who you ask,” Gatuluk raised his eyebrows.

Silence fell on the campsite as Ash glanced at Michael. She could see the tiredness in Michael’s eyes and she looked at his travelling cloak and raised an eyebrow. He nodded his head, laid down and rolled himself up in it. She looked back to see Gatuluk looking frankly surprised.

“Never had someone go to _sleep_ as a response.”

“He’s tired,” Ash simply stated. “So the Rapture was supposed to come and it didn’t. Christ decided to not show up to the party.”

Gatuluk was silent again for a moment, watching her over the popping flames of the campfire. “Phanuel did as ordered. Just like he did the last time he was here.”

All Ash did was blink and stare and Gatuluk. “Would you like to try making sense now?”

“Not much fun in that, is there?” Gatuluk flashed her a momentary smile before he turned back to his hardtack.

The conversation died down a bit after that. There was just the occasional pop from the fire accompanied by the gentle whinnies of the horses and the infrequent snuffle from Michael. By the time she cleaned Michael’s sword and re-honed the edge, the sun had sunk long past the horizon and the Big Dipper was out. It was low in the sky and Ash figured it was mid-evening now. Gatuluk was staring at the glowing embers, as if they’d answer his question.

“What is it?” Ash broke the quiet, “Something important?”

“No. What direction are you headed in?”

“We’re headed for Morsima,” something made Ash omit the ‘pilgrimage’ part, “You?”

“Same actually,” Gatuluk stretched for a moment. “I have family there.”

There was a split second pause that didn’t escape her notice. But she didn’t say anything about it. Gatuluk seemed to have something else on his mind since he spoke again.

“If I could travel with you…”

Ash looked at him with raised eyebrows and Gatuluk’s words trailed off. It sounded like he was looking for protecting. She didn’t reply for a moment, gently brushing her fingertip against the edge of the sword. It caught the sharp edge, ready to shave off a layer of skin.

“I’ll compensate you both. Plus I’m extensively versed in herb lore.”

A snicker came from Ash’s throat. She honestly couldn’t help it. A travelling priest would compensate her and Michael when they reached Morsima? Not to mention it seemed very convenient that Gatuluk was travelling to Morsima as well. Nothing was every truly coincidental in Ash’s opinion.

Gatuluk wanted something from them. The only problem was that Ash couldn’t figure out what it was.

“You’d better get to sleep,” Ash finally replied. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

“Good idea.”

It was the last thing Gatuluk said to her that night. He moved in closer to the fire, rolled up in his cloak and pillowed his head on his pack. Ash fussed over Michael’s sword a bit longer before double checking her own blades and then putting the supplies back in a pack. She glanced up every so often and only really relaxed when Gataluk’s chest rose and fell in the steady rhythm of sleep. It was a bit longer before she noticed the Big Dipper was just past halfway across the sky.

“Hey,” she reached over and gently shook Michael’s shoulder. “Time to get up. It’s your turn to watch.”

Michael looked around blearily before he unrolled himself from the cloak and sat up. As he was blinking his eyes blearily, Ash picked up her long-forgotten dinner and handed it to him. He grunted in thanks and broke off a piece of hardtack before he paused.

“Did you eat?” he whispered as he looked at her.

“Not very hungry.” Ash kept her voice low and then shrugged as she handed him back his sheathed sword. “Besides, you eat like a damned horse when you wake up.”

Michael didn’t seem pleased with this answer since he handed her back a piece of jerky. Then he dug into his pack for his canteen. She didn’t want to take it, but there was a hard look on Michael’s face that said taking it was the easier thing to do. She took both, feeling the water slosh around in the container. They could probably make this last a few more days before they had to fill it up again. She drank a bit of water and chewed on the jerky for a bit before she spoke again.

“He’s coming with us to Morsima. Claims to have family there.”

A few minutes of silence passed as Michael finished off half of the hardtack before handing it over to her. “Something about him doesn’t seem right. It feels off. Probably better to have him travel with us.”

Ash knew what the unspoken part of Michael’s sentence was: better to have Gatuluk travel with them than leave and pop up again in some unexpected way.

“He says he’ll teach us herb lord.” Ash paused for a moment before adding on, “He claims he’ll compensate us when we get to Morsima.”

“What with?” Michael snorted, “Benediction? He’s a _poor_ priest. His robe is pretty threadbare and I’m surprised that cloak is as thick as it is.”

“I’ve yet to meet a rich priest.” Ash managed to keep the laughter from her voice. “But I think you’re right. I think he wants something from us. We should keep an eye on him. As for travelling, we’ll have to switch him between our horses. And speaking of, what was that earlier on today?”

“Hmm?” Confusion clouded Michael’s face before it cleared up. “With the Croat?”

“Yes, Rambo. And,” Ash prodded but waited until the fire stopped its sudden popping before she finished up quietly with, “How long have you been sitting on that one?”

Michael gave an awkward shrug and Ash could see the flush of embarrassment travel up his neck to take over his face. “Look, back when I started school, I got picked on. I trained Impala. No one messes with you if you’ve got a horse that bites and kicks on command.”

“Uh huh,” Ash could practically see the word ‘but’ trying to get past his lips. She stared at him.

“Trouble was,” Michael said. “Some of the smarter kids realised I had to get to my horse before I was safe. That was when I learned how to fight from Mom and Dad.”

Ash blinked at that. She didn’t know he was having such a hard go of it at the school. Personally, everything she ever needed to know she pretty much knew. Dead reckoning, using the stars to navigate, hunting, surviving out in the wild… what the hell did she need algebra for when trying to find a maple tree in the spring that had a good run of sap?

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Michael looked at her for a moment. “No offense, but I can fight my own battles.”

“But…” the minute Ash opened her mouth, she thought better of it. Michael did have a good point. If he had gotten her help, the other boys would have teased him mercilessly and ramped up whatever they’d been attacking him with. She shook her head before she clapped him on the shoulder.

“If they tried that with me, they’d have their balls for earrings.”

“No doubt,” a smile came to Michael’s face. He took his cloak off and settled it on her shoulders. It was still warm from his body heat. “Get some sleep.”

Ash didn’t say anything, just gave him a grin. Then she rolled herself up in the cloak and pillowed her head on the pack with extra clothes. She fell asleep to the steady pops from the fire, Michael breathing and the sound of paper turning every few minutes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The past week felt like some strange test. Gatuluk was a chatty person. Michael wasn’t really, not around people he didn’t know. It primarily fell to Ash to make conversation when Gatuluk decided that a conversation was really the best thing to pass the time. That felt like most of the day.

But, true to his word, Gatuluk started instructing them on herbs. The coming of spring had caused a wild profusion of plants. The young shoots were pushing up from the thin layer of dead plants from last year, buds sprouting from slumbering woody stems. The extent of Gatuluk’s herb lore was surprising. Michael knew which ones were edible and useful as medicine. But Gatuluk knew a use for almost every plant they passed. Michael may not have trusted the man’s motives but he listened as all the information poured forth. Honestly at the end of the day, he was glad to be the first one to sleep. Gatuluk left almost no time to absorb the information before he continued on to the next thing.

Ash was just soaking it all up like a sponge, expanding her own current knowledge. But she was much more adept at learning on her feet than he was.

Today had been something of a relief. The trees had gradually stopped and the only plants that had been growing for the last stretch of miles of that day was just wild rose, with their wide petals, and tall grasses. There was a peculiarly large ridge and when he went to investigate, he found it to be the vestigial remains of a wall. A ridiculously long wall, but a good solid grey wall nonetheless. For a good twenty feet from the wall there was no grass, just springy moss intermixed with small, smooth stones. When they came across a creek, he glanced at Ash and knew that they’d be staying for a few days at the most. They needed to re-supply on water, clean their current travelling clothes and give the horses a well deserved break.

It also helped that it was late April and the temperature was rapidly rising. That cold March night when they left felt like a long forgotten memory.

They picked an easily defensible position against the wall, with the creek only a glance away but semi-screened by the grasses. Setting up camp had been the easy part. Ash set Gatuluk to foraging for some edible plants and Michael had the enviable task of finding something fresh to eat for dinner. So he’d gone out into the tall grass, thin rope and kabar knife in hand, looking for signs of rabbits. Michael didn’t exactly complain. Ash was much better at setting camp up quickly.

The rabbit trail was easy to find, once he spotted some rabbit spoor. The tiny little round spheres were just a few hops away from the trail. Given how firmly the grass was packed down, Michael suspected he wouldn’t have to wait long for something to hop along and get caught. Finding the narrowest part of the trail was easy, as was setting up the noose of the snare on the branch and setting it at a strategic angle. He searched through the grass until he found more trails, setting up two additional snares. The rabbits only had about a month since winter had passed. They’d still be a bit on the skinny side and he knew he could easily eat one, let alone Ash and Gatuluk.

He ambled back to the camp to find Ash had set Impala and Zeppelin on pickets with a good amount of room for each of them. The fire pit dug all ready and she was scrounging for large stones to ring around the pit. She was also sniffing at her clothes with a frown on her face.

“Just wash them.” Michael didn’t keep the amusement from his voice. “Want me to go and see if I can find a shallow part in the creek?”

“Sounds good. Someone’s going to have to wash your filthy, smelly clothes,” Ash found a few good rocks and started picking them up. “You want them washed tomorrow?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, sniffing at his shirt. Call him crazy, but Michael could swear he still smelled a hint of blood. That creek water would probably still be cold. “Yes, please.”

“How nice, you two are getting domestic.”

Michael looked up to see Gatuluk coming back, arms full of long cattails as well as bunches of leaves and roots in his hands. So far dinner was well on track. All they needed now was a few rabbits and they’d eat well tonight. Ash stood up, arms full of rocks as she moved back to the fire pit.

“You’re going to feed us nature’s sausages and,” she scrutinised the leaves in Gatuluk’s hands, “Garlic and onions?”

“Don’t forget carrots.” Gatuluk held up the spoils. “You get those rabbits yet, Rambo?”

Michael made a face. Save a man’s life and get an annoying nickname in return. Maybe he should have just let the Croats have Gatuluk. “I set up snares. Give it sometime and we’ll have meat for dinner.”

“Good. Leave the skins with me and I can tan them.” Gatuluk went to the empty fire pit, dumping down the spoils. “I’ll make the fire. You two… do whatever it is you need to do.”

Ash had shrugged and turned away, so she missed the small smirk that came to Gatuluk’s face. Michael lingered for a moment, feeling unsure. Gatuluk had made the fire every evening for the past week. And he made it ridiculously fast. For those seven days, Michael couldn’t recall a single time when he’d seen a tinderbox in Gatuluk’s hand. He watched as the cattails were ripped open and the white fluff inside was placed inside the pit. Then Gatuluk walked into the grasses, looking for something to use to light the fire.

Michael turned and hurried to catch up with Ash. He turned the corner of the old wall, seeing Ash’s tousled head going towards the stream. But then the back of his neck prickled, instincts screaming at him that something was wrong. He turned and crept back, peering around the ragged edge of the wall.

There was Gatuluk, crouched over the fire pit, sticks arranged in a cone with the cattail fluff at the heart of it. A tinderbox wasn’t anywhere in sight. Gatuluk just had his hand extended out, fingers spread and palm facing towards the pit. There was a flicker of orange from inside the core of that construction. Michael was wondering how that happened when he glanced up at Gatuluk’s face.

Those eyes were an inky black.

Stifling a yell, Michael reached for his knife, blinking once or twice to make sure that he wasn’t seeing things. Maybe he was since Gatuluk’s eyes were brown once more and that round stubbled face was intent. Michael silently watched as Gatuluk sat back once the fire established itself and started to make short work of the cattails, garlic and onions.

After a few more minutes, Michael drew away, feeling unsure of what he just saw. Gatuluk’s eyes had been black. Completely black, without an iris or… anything really. But a few seconds later, there was a normal brown eye. Granted he was a little bit tired but that wouldn’t affect him to such a point.

He would have to keep a closer eye on Gatuluk.

Ash was waiting for him a bit impatiently as he followed her tracks. “Done daydreaming?”

Her voice was testy and that made Michael frown. They’d left in March and it was now April. She hadn’t once –

“Hello?” Ash waved a hand in front of his face. “We’re trying to find somewhere to wash our stinky clothes.”

“Right, right.” Michael said absently before he turned his attention back to the task at hand. “Maybe further upstream? The land seems to be gently sloping down.”

“Worth a shot,” Ash said.

They walked in silence. Michael couldn’t quite shake the uncertainty of what he’d seen from his mind. After a moment he made a sound of annoyance and spoke.

“What happened after Lucifer got Jake back?”

“Huh?” Ash paused and looked back at him. “Come again?”

Michael repeated the question before he added on, “I just need to think about something else at the moment, current task aside.”

“All right,” Ash said after a moment and a raised eyebrow. “That where Brother Josse finished off?”

“Yes.” Michael confirmed.

Ash gave a brief nod of her head and they started walking again. “So you don’t know the true purpose of Jake Talley. I don’t think even the other angels even suspected it as well. Otherwise, things would have turned out differently.”

__________________________________________________________________________

 _Jake Talley’s body looked like a broken doll, limbs at odd angles and the clothes stained with blood in the place of dirt. It made Sam feel a fierce surge of delight and vindictiveness. At least Michael was making these sons of bitches pay._

 _When Lucifer went to retrieve Jake it had been for a single goal: ascertaining Michael’s location. After the world had stretched and bent in unnatural ways, he knew the body he saw… that he would have called Dean once was no longer Dean. Those hazel eyes burned with the holy purpose and unrelenting will that came with an archangel._

 _Michael had flung Jake at Lucifer, ready to fight. That had amused Lucifer, Michael just tossing him the one thing he truly wanted. All Sam wished he could have done was hamstring Lucifer or something. Or even take control of what had once been his body and tell Michael to kill him now, to halt Lucifer’s plan._

 _But now, with Jake back, the plan was going ahead._

 _Lucifer had laid his hands on Jake and healed those swollen bones and evaporated blood. Michael had done a number on Jake Talley’s body. Sam hadn’t been too thrilled to see his one-time murderer get put back together like a cheap doll made out of plastic. It still boggled Sam that even after all these centuries, hell, probably millennia, Lucifer still had access to the powers of the heavenly host. It was like someone was almost hoping this rebel angel would repent and come back into the fold._

 _Given Lucifer’s current course of actions, Sam felt fairly certain that even that forgiveness would evaporate like the waters of Lake Michigan._

 _Lucifer lifted his hands from Jake’s body, the healing finished. Sam watched as Jake stretched on the ground, as if testing out Lucifer’s handiwork and ensuring everything worked as it should. There wasn’t a single power on Earth that would make Sam not watch. He wanted to see everything that happened, to know so if something happened maybe he’d have a chance to tell everything that happened._

 _It was a slim to none chance, but Sam wasn’t ready to discredit anything. He’d figured out how to block Lucifer’s voice, to not have to deal with the taunting. That had been the easy part, since it was all mental – that was also an irony Sam didn’t care to dwell on. Actually controlling the body, that was the harder task. Lucifer seemed to have iron control over that. Sam wasn’t going to give up though._

 _Jake rose to his feet. His lips moved, saying, “Lucifer.” Sam hurriedly lowered the mental block that kept Lucifer’s voice out._

 _“Jake,” Lucifer inclined his head. “Or would you prefer Pestilence?”_

 _“Either or. It’s all the same at this point.” Jake shrugged._

 _Then Jake did something strange. He stared at Lucifer and Sam could have sworn that Jake looked right past him, **right past** the archangel and looked at Sam’s trapped soul. Sam didn’t flinch though, didn’t try to hide. Just simply stood his proverbial ground and let the Horseman look over him._

 _And for a moment, he didn’t see Jake Talley complete and whole._

 _He saw a corpse, half rotting, half liquefied but somehow, against all the laws of physics, walking around. The skin was loose and the lips were gone, freezing the gaunt face into a permanent look of mania. The limbs were strange, some bloated and some thin and gaunt, while the belly was distended from God only knew what and seemed like it was crawling from the inside. Then the mask snapped back into place and Pestilence looked like Jake Talley once more._

 _Sam felt vaguely glad that he hadn’t seen War or Death’s true visage since they were raised. If that was what Pestilence looked like…_

 _ **“You know that Dean actually said ‘yes’ to Michael,”** Lucifer began, not taking his eyes from Jake. **“It’s changed my plans, slightly.”**_

 _“How so?” Jake crossed his arms, watching Lucifer like he’s some interesting thing to play with._

 _  
**“I can’t afford to have the virus run its natural course and mutate on its own. I need the mutated version now. I need something more… virulent and deadly.”**   
_

_“How deadly?” That’s all Jake asked, like it was a discussion over morning coffee._

 _ **“I want it to eradicate all these pustulant, shit-flinging monkeys,”** The sheer force of hatred that consumed Lucifer for a moment didn’t surprise Sam. **“I want them all dead.”**_

 _“Can’t be done, there are rules even I have to follow. The most I can give you is just shy of one hundred percent,”_

 _Lucifer was disgusted by Jake’s words. Sam could feel Lucifer’s annoyance and confusion that God still favoured humans over angels; favoured the lesser, the weaker, over the stronger._

 _“I can give you ninety nine. Good?”_

 _  
**“That’ll do. Maybe if I’m lucky the rest will kill themselves off.”**   
_

_It took a moment for the gravitas of the conversation to sink into Sam’s consciousness. They’re talking about eradicating almost the entire human population of the planet with a virus of some kind? The Croatoan virus, that’s the only one they could be talking about. Demonic biological warfare wouldn’t be above Lucifer. And –_

 _“Done. Some will always survive a disease, that’s why I can’t guarantee you a full death rate. I tried with the Plague. But humans are resilient. I had better luck way back before Christ was born. Athens was some of my finest work.”_

 _“Undoubtedly,” Genuine amusement curled through Lucifer. “And Christ, heh.”_

 _A smile curled Jake’s mouth. **“If Metatron is the mouthpiece, then Christ is the thing holding up the mouthpiece.”**_

 _Lucifer laughed at that, a long belly laugh. **“You were always my favourite Horseman. War’s a little too crazy and nihilistic. Death is just sombre and stares at you all the while. And Famine… that one’s a wet blanket, what with the constant feeding.”**_

 _Jake’s smile widened. “It’s been awhile since we’ve last seen one another. Was it the Flood before?”_

 _  
**“It was; if only that took. We wouldn’t be here.”**   
_

_Sam blocked out Lucifer’s voice now. So an angel and a horseman meet in a bar and talk about the good old days? It sounded like the setup to a bad joke. Lucifer stepped back suddenly and Sam saw Jake’s body start to vibrate, looking like one of those weird medical lab mixers. After a few moments though, it was over. Lucifer seemed pleased and crooked a finger for Jake to come forward._

 _When Jake did, Lucifer placed a hand against that chest. There was a surge of power, searing and complex that worked down through Lucifer’s arm. It settled on Jake’s sternum before creeping out and wrapping around the ribs. Sam realised what Lucifer had done: he’d cloaked Jake against the sight of angels now with the same Enochian symbols that Castiel burned onto him and Dean. It was like having a droning sound finally disappear from his hearing. Sam removed the block again and Lucifer’s voice sounded practically victorious._

 _ **“Tell the others to hide themselves as well as I have hidden you.”** Lucifer slowly smiled. **“Besides, you should have more fun this time. There’re so many densely populated areas, billions even in some nations.”**_

 _“Be still my beating heart,” Jake quipped. “You know how to romance a person, Lucifer.”_

 _And with that, Jake disappeared, just there and then gone. Sam felt the rage bubble up and he was powerless against it. Lucifer had just sent off the worst plague ever since the Spanish flu, fuck, even since the bubonic plague. And Sam… Sam knew all about it._

 _And he couldn’t do a damned thing about it._

 _ **“There you are, Sam.”** Lucifer murmured. **“How –”**_

 _Before Lucifer could say anything else, Sam slammed the block back up, and there was nothing coming from the damned archangel. Lucifer seemed to have affection for gloating when he should be doing something else._

 _Sam wallowed in his anger for a bit longer before he came to a resolution. There was no chance of him stopping this virus from being released. But he knew that Michael would eventually come to duke it out with Lucifer._

 _He didn’t care what it took, but Sam was going to make sure that Michael got a clean shot at killing Lucifer once and for all._

__________________________________________________________________________

It was noon when the second stories of the small cluster of buildings came into view from the horizon. Ash couldn’t be happier to see those buildings. It had been two weeks since they left the spot by the creek. If Gatuluk hadn’t been with them, she was sure they could have made it here in about half the time.

On the up-hand though, her herb lore knowledge had increased exponentially. As Gatuluk had talked, Michael had seemed hard pressed to keep up. She figured it had more to do with the fact that Michael was used to a more regimented way of learning. Her learning had consisted of going on hunting trips with her grandparents and parents. They showed her the safe things to eat and how to prepare them. Her only warning had been that if she didn’t pay attention and ate the wrong thing, then the consequences were mainly on her head.

There was that one time when she was nine and ate far too many dandelion leaves. Her grandparents hadn’t been amused that she spent an entire hunting trip crouched behind a bush, with a fat handful of foliage, griping about the unseen danger of those delicious leaves from a yellow fluffy flower.

But these past two weeks were also interspersed with dirt that got into everything and Michael being in a very peculiar mood. It could even be said that before, Michael was downright pleasant with Gatuluk. Now, there was just wariness, like Michael was anticipating something. Ash personally had no idea of what it was, since Michael hadn’t said a word of anything to her.

She glanced over at him now. Gatuluk was riding behind him. There was a stiff set to Michael’s shoulders and back, like he was holding them that way. Gatuluk seemed quite comfortable, his arms wrapped around Michael’s midsection for stability.

Ash didn’t know what Michael was up to, but he was going to feel it. And speaking of feeling, her back was itching her something fierce again. As soon as they reached the Order building and got their rooms, she was stripping off her shirt and demanding Michael slather on the last of the salve. She’d already figured out what was in it. If the Order building didn’t have any more, she would make it herself.

Not to mention Impala and Zeppelin were looking tired as well. Two weeks of three people riding, even with one of the riders alternating… She stopped Zeppelin and dismounted quickly.

“What is it?” Michael reined in Impala.

“Nothing. Just thought I’d walk in,” Ash pulled out the very last of some dried apples from her pocket and held it out for Zeppelin. She got a whinny and a nuzzle for her trouble. With a smile she rubbed the horse on the nose. “Besides, I’m probably so bowlegged now a herd of stampeding Arabians could go right on through.”

“You might be bowlegged but you’re still one of the prettiest sights around.” Gatuluk glanced over and gave her a wink.

Yeah, there was something else she’d be glad to be rid of. If Gatuluk complimented her on her looks once more, she was liable to deck him. She wasn’t stupid, she knew what she looked like. Hell, more than once she used it to her advantage when she needed to. What she didn’t need was to be reminded of it about three times a day.

“Keep it up and I’ll skin you myself.” Ash muttered under her breath.

The sound of Michael’s tack jingling followed by two sets of feet hitting the earth. They walked slowly into town and by the time they were on the main street, Ash figured that an hour had passed. The town didn’t seem too busy. In fact, the streets were fairly empty and stores seemed closed. She pulled Zeppelin’s reins in closer and looked at Michael. There was a wary look on his face that mirrored how she was feeling. The middle of the day and a town this big was practically a ghost town.

Gatuluk didn’t seem fazed. “It’s the Mourning Day.”

“Mourning Day?” Ash echoed.

“They claim that this is the place where Dean Winchester died,” Gatuluk paused, “Doesn’t matter that they got the date wrong. But their intentions are in the right place, I suppose.”

“We’re here,” Michael’s flat voice made her look over. “You can go now.”

“What?” Gatuluk tilted his head slightly. “No kiss goodbye?”

A scowl came to Michael’s face and Ash quickly said, “Don’t push your luck.”

Gatuluk shrugged at that. “You kept your end of the bargain and quite competently too. You two are much better at the survival thing than a pair of functioning morons I once met.”

“Once met?” Ash asked.

“Yeah, once; they had a very bad habit of dying frequently. It took a while for death to stick to them.”

That made Ash pause. “Family?”

“You could say so.” Gatuluk answered after a moment. “I guess you could say they married in; distant relations on my father’s side of the family… anyway, the matter of payment.”

She watched as Gatuluk reached into his pack and drew out some smooth gold-coloured coins. There was something about what Gatuluk said that struck her as peculiar. It was as if these people weren’t actually dead but somewhere else, many miles away. She shook her head slightly as Gatuluk removed the tanned rabbit pelts and handed them to her.

“I trust that’s enough compensation?” Gatuluk watched her carefully.

“More than enough.” Ash knew that between the finely cured pelts – who would have thought brain paste would do such a good job – and the coins, they could have enough money to buy a few extra supplies for the next two months.

Gatuluk nodded his head and turned to Michael. “And for you, good sir…”

A thick sheaf of papers was the next thing to come out from Gatuluk’s bag. What surprised Ash was how much there was of it. Her next thought was where did someone get that much good quality paper? Considering books were ridiculously expensive and paper wasn’t cheap to make, he either stole it or learned how to make the good stuff. Michael looked at it, rubbing his fingertips over the surface. Then his eyes narrowed and he tucked the papers under his arm before uttering a single word.

“Christo.”

Okay, now Ash was really confused and… and why was Gatuluk laughing? Michael’s expression had hardened, his jaw muscles bulging slightly from his gritted teeth. Something about this entire situation didn’t seem right. Her hand went down to a knife and she curled her fingers around the hilt.

“Bravo. You put the pieces together real quick. Keep a hold of this one,” Gatuluk turned to look at her. His eyes were inky black. No whites, no pupils, just pure black staring at her from those eye sockets. “He’s got all his ducks in a row.”

“Just go.” Michael ground out.

Gatuluk turned to look at him. “Not quite yet.”

Ash watched as Gatuluk tilted his head, as if contemplating what he should do next. But she knew what he was now, why Michael had been so damned antsy the past two weeks. Considering that Gatuluk had been with them constantly, there hadn’t been a good time for Michael to really bring it up and for them to form a plan of attack.

The words came easily to her lips. “Exorcizamus te, ominis immundus spiritus –”

Gatuluk whipped his head around so fast Ash was certain he broke his spine. “Good job. The Ascended knows her stuff. Better read up and arm yourself. I’m going and keeping this meat suit, if you don’t mind.”

Just like that, a second later, Gatuluk was gone. It had actually physically hurt her eyes seeing someone just abruptly disappear like that. Zeppelin and Impala shied away, neighing in fear. She and Michael spent a moment calming their horses before they looked at one another. There was a thoughtful look on Michael’s face before he asked,

“What do you think he meant when he called you ‘The Ascended’?”

“I have no idea,” Ash shrugged as she started walking. “But I think we’ve had a long trip here. Doesn’t help we were travelling with a damned demented demon.”

“Not demented. But we still don’t know what he was after.”

There was a thread of worry in Michael’s voice. All Ash did was nod her head in response while staring absently at the hard-packed dirt road. Since Gatuluk left so easily when she had started reciting the exorcism ritual, she could only assume that he had achieved whatever objective it had. It was the not knowing that was driving her mad. A gentle tug on her jacket made her look up. Michael was giving her a vague smile.

“You can think your deep thoughts at the Order building later. A good night’s sleep on a bed with a mattress is the best cure.”

“You’re right,” Ash wouldn’t tell him that she sometimes hated it when he was. “Let’s get going.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Nights were starting to become something of a problem for Michael. In the past three months, he seemed to spend them keeping watch, being in the chapel or, in a very rare case, burying his nose in a book. His eyes felt like they were burning every time he blinked, and gritty to boot.

Gatuluk had disappeared only what seemed like a few hours ago. The sheaf of papers given to him by the demon was in front of him, with the papers open like a book.

As soon as they got here Ash had stripped off her dusty shirt and collapsed on the bed. She just lay there, not moving and groaning in relief. The tattoos on her back were scabbing over but they were looking a bit on the dry side. It didn’t take him long to find the salve – what little there was left of it – and start rubbing it in. Ash shifted a bit, pushing a shoulder blade up into Michael’s hand. By the time he finished, she was fast asleep.

He’d managed to get her underneath the blanket and slipped out of the room quietly.

Since then he’d been in the library, poring over books and folios. The only guide he had was Gatuluk’s papers. It felt like he was being led on a wild goose chase. There was information on werewolves, vampires, and other things, haphazardly scrawled all over the place. Somehow, he would have to condense this down into some sort of handy journal that was portable.

He had initially paused when he came across a section with the bold scrawled word, “Croats.”

What had followed was page after page of anything that could be gleaned about Croats. Michael was surprised to see that the information chronicled the start of Croats back in the year of 2010. As he flipped through and read, it became clearer to Michael that Gatuluk had played him and Ash for fools. The demon knew that Croats had grown to prefer quiet, dark places, some place that was easier to ambush potential prey. That day almost a month ago had been staged, just so he could ingratiate himself into travelling with them.

A scowl came to Michael’s face. The next time he saw Gatuluk, he’d make sure to bury a kabar knife in a vital spot.

He randomly flipped through a few more pages, making himself calm down. It would do no good to get angry now. Information on sirens, angels and something called Tommy knockers passed by his uncaring eyes. But the large word surrounded by glyphs on the next page was like a herald for a thick section, bound securely in a thin rope.

“Abaddon.”

The bound section seemed a little bit intimidating. Just what could be in here that it merited being tied up? The glyphs were what worried him the most. That many scrawled across the page could only mean that something was being protected by something. Or trying to keep something contained. After a moment of thought, Michael left it bound. He wasn’t about to fool around with something he didn’t even begin to understand.

He went back to poring over the loose pages. It was only when he saw more people shuffling in and heard the faint chirp of birdsong that he realised it was morning. Damn, he’d been up the whole night. His joints popped as he stretched his arms and slowly rose from his seat. Collecting up the papers didn’t take long and he tucked them under his arm as he quietly left the library. The sunlight that came in through a window seemed harsh and he blinked rapidly. All around, he could hear the sound of the building occupants getting up and going about their daily routines.

It didn’t take him long to find the chapel. It was one of the few quiet rooms in this entire building. He made his way up to the front pew and sat down, looking at the painting. He wasn’t too sure what to make of this one. Another triptych, the subject matter seemed wholly depressing for the most part. A man was running for his life in the first one, chased by a pack of shaggy, demonic looking hounds. There were tears and bloody gouges along the man’s back, implying he’d tried to escape. Michael had a horrible feeling that he didn’t. The second painting gave it away. The same man was skewered on some rods, his clothes torn and bloody and his eyes pitch black. He stood triumphant and victorious over a dead body. For some reason, that one made Michael’s hair stand on end. That was a righteous man torn down to nothing, reduced to nothing and built back up as a twisted parody of his former self. His eyes darted over to the last painting and he felt even more saddened by it. He supposed the subject matter could be considered hopeful. What was clearly an angel was pulling the skewered man up. Up towards the light and what was obviously some kind of salvation.

But the expression on the skewered man’s face, it just wrenched at Michael’s heart. It was anguish and terror rolled into one. The skewered man didn’t feel as if he deserved to be saved. It was the face of a soul who felt he’d earned his rightful place in hell and didn’t understand why he was being pulled away.

Why the hell couldn’t the Order of Winchester have paintings of pie and such? From what he read in the Gospels of Chuck, Dean Winchester had seemed overly fond of the baked dessert.

“Figured I’d find you here,” Ash’s voice still sounded rough with sleep. “Why didn’t you sleep last night?”

Michael wondered how she knew for a split second before he recalled the perfectly made bed he’d left behind when he’d slipped out from the room. He just looked back at her and shrugged before looking back at the painting. There was a moment of silence from Ash before she sighed heavily and walked forward.

“You’ve got to sleep you know. You can’t keep staying up all night when we reach our stops, you know,” she paused as she sat down beside him. “Have you eaten?”

“No. Have you?”

Ash paused for a moment, obviously surprised by this. “No. I came to find you first.”

“You should eat something,” Michael looked at her as he came right out and said it. “You haven’t menstruated since we left.”

“Excuse me?” Ash hissed as her face went bright red.

“You haven’t,” he pressed on. “We’ve been eating mainly travelling staples with whatever we can supplement it with. I think those four days by the creek were honestly the best we’ve eaten while travelling.”

“My menstrual cycle is none of your damned business, Winchester.” Ash said tightly. She was spinning around the beads of her skull bracelet.

Michael snorted derisively. “Since you’re not worrying about it, then I will. It can’t be healthy. So until you do, we’re not going anywhere.”

“I don’t believe you.” Ash finally pronounced after a moment.

What Michael wouldn’t do was tell her that she would probably start in the next day or so. Good night’s rest and decent meals would kick start it. Then after a week, she’d go back to being her usual reticent self. But now was the time to change the topic. She’d either take the out or opt to chew him out anyway.

“Tell me about this one.” Michael motioned to the painting.

The seconds ticked on by and Michael could feel Ash’s gaze, boring a hole through his skull. He was starting to wonder if Ash would kick his ass when she finally spoke.

“It looks like the Death and Resurrection of Dean Winchester.” Ash turned her attention to the painting.

Pieces fell into place at those words. Dean’s contract coming due, him being in hell and his subsequent fall and then the angel Castiel pulling him from the Pit. That had been the last thing he’d read in the Winchester Gospels before Gatuluk had shown up, supposedly running for his life.

“I read that,” Michael murmured and his mind skittered back to Lucifer and Pestilence. “What happened after Lucifer sent Pestilence out?”

Ash didn’t say anything for a moment before rising and tugging on his sleeve. “C’mon. Back to our room and bed and then I’ll tell you.”

“No. Here’s fine. I don’t want to fall asleep when you’re talking to me,” Michael twisted his arm, grasping her wrist and gently tugging her back. He could feel the tiredness creeping through him. If he went to bed, he’d be out cold in no time. “No point in you telling me the same thing twice, is there?”

Ash made a face but sat back down. “When I stop and say it’s time to sleep, it’s time to sleep. Got it?”

“Yes, mother,” It’s the only joke Michael really had the energy to make.

“Not funny,” Ash followed the words with a stinging slap to the shoulder. But she shifted and made herself more comfortable before she started with, “After Lucifer sent Pestilence out, it got a lot worse,”

__________________________________________________________________________


	5. Chapter 5

_It didn’t take long for the first inkling of trouble to surface… almost a full week after Michael’s first encounter with Lucifer and there was not a word. And then the rumours came trickling in from major cities around the globe._

 _Tokyo, Perth, Mumbai, Riyadh, Athens, London, Sao Paolo, Mexico City, New York, Los Angeles, Vancouver, Toronto… all reported a strange disease causing slightly elevated levels of stress and aggression on July 1st, 2010._

 _So far it was nothing. But from everything Dean saw from what Michael remembered, that’s how it always started: with nothing._

 _All Michael wanted to do now was find Lucifer and smite him, end this now and be done. Dean was all for that idea, having seen the fucking nightmare that Lucifer would unleash on Earth. But amid all the chaos of humanity, Dean had no idea how Michael would even find Lucifer._

 _  
**“By looking to see where there is nothing.”**   
_

_Michael’s tone was grim as he started scouring the Earth, looking. It took the archangel all of five minutes to find a quiet little spot of nothing out in West Virgina by the Appalachian Mountains. The disorienting whammy of angel teleportation came and a few seconds later, the broken sign of, “Marlinton” appeared, looking a hundred years old already. The words underneath of, “Best Fishing on the Greenbriar” were barely seen through blood spatters._

 _Michael paused for a moment and the heavy weight of armour weighed down on what were once Dean’s shoulders and legs._

 _The entire town felt wrong, vibrating with an energy that craved more. Needed more, wanted more and would take it however it could. Anger surged through Michael more strongly than before as he drew his sword and teleported to where the feeling was strongest._

 _Sure enough, there was Lucifer, inside concentric rings of people with a bloody dagger in his hand and the body of a crumpled boy at his feet. The people were wasting away right before his eyes, their flesh and souls shrivelling to nothing. They were offering up everything they had, everything they were, in this ritual to summon the last of the Horsemen, Famine._

 _This would not come to pass._

 _Michael teleported again, right inside the circle. Lucifer turned to look at him, surprised to see the bright length of metal come thrusting towards him. Lucifer’s body twisted and he barely managed to avoid the blade. The ritual was broken and the people collapsed, looking very much like withered husks. It only took a moment to extend a hand forth and will them back to their homes._

 _Hopefully, some of them would survive._

 _ **“Ah, brother,”** Lucifer picked himself up, dusting off his white blazer._

 _The gesture looked so unfamiliar to Dean. He had to forcibly remind himself that this wasn’t Sam anymore. Sam was long gone._

 _  
**“We should not be –”**   
_

_Lucifer started to talk. Michael always thought Lucifer talked too much before he got down to it. Michael ran towards Lucifer, blade ready to run through the one he called brother once. Lucifer was quick though, drawing a blade of his own. The ring of angelic forged metal rang out across the land like a bell pealing in the universe._

 _The shockwave alone blew out all the glass in the town. Even now, as Lucifer parried towards him, blade tip aiming for a potential exposed spot, Dean could feel everything through Michael. Could feel the souls of the humans, scared and terrified, fleeing their home town in the hopes of saving their lives._

 _The first desperate tone of the battle came when Michael caught Lucifer in mid-teleport, high above the town. Dean felt the power flow through limbs and before he knew it, the world spun around and then Lucifer was hurtling down to the ground, blazing in a streak of burning air like a comet._

 _It took Dean completely by surprise when Lucifer impacted. It was not the small crater he was expecting. No, the distinct shape of a body was impressed deeply into the ground, spanning some four blocks. A cloud of dust mushroomed up but for some reason, Lucifer was clearly visible through the haze. Dean knew that’s Michael at work. If it was his own piss-poor human eyesight, Dean would have been completely blind._

 _Michael fell to the ground, somehow controlling his descent through his Grace or something else. All Dean knew was that a lot of the laws of physics had just been trampled on and tossed right out the window. A snarl came to Lucifer’s face and he jumped up, looking more than ready to run Michael through. Dean wished he never saw what was once Sam’s face contorted into such an expression._

 _Even through the haze, Michael and Lucifer connected. Michael socked him right in the face, making fragile human bone cave in. Lucifer must have planned it to get in closer, get past Michael’s guard. Fists pummelled him in the torso, aiming for the soft spots of the kidneys and the solar plexus._

 _It worked and one particularly hard blow sent Michael flying backwards. The impact against the buildings was the worst thing Dean thought he’d ever seen. It was just plain wrong to know solidly constructed brick and mortar was giving way to soft human flesh and bone. But even as Michael punched through a few buildings, Dean could sense the damage Lucifer wrought to the internal system. Broken ribs, ruptured organs… they’re all knitting back together rapidly because of Michael’s Grace._

 _It all got worse from there. Dean watched as the town was reduced to rubble in a short amount of time and the fight slowly moved up into the mountains._

 _They went up and down a length of the Appalachians. The mountains were slowly chipped away, until all that was left was a giant gaping hole, a long wound on the earth. Lucifer’s once immaculate suit was a mess. It’s ripped at the sleeves and one pant leg was half missing. There’s dirt, blood and plant matter ground in, smears of brown, red and green._

 _Lucifer glared at Michael, as he held his sword loosely. It was as if he was thinking, trying to find the weak spot. Michael was hurting a bit, but he knew that Lucifer was hurting much more. Something flickered in Lucifer’s eyes and face for a moment._

 _It’s the realisation that if he continued, he’d die. Michael growled now, something angry and thwarted. Lucifer gave a grim smirk and disappeared._

 _Michael was beyond pissed now. Dean could see the anger lighting Michael up, searing and burning with its brilliance. But it was momentary. Michael glanced down at his sword and a moment later it went from blood-smeared to immaculate._

 _It got sheathed with a slight hiss of metal. Michael concentrated and after a moment all the things broken, bruised and bleeding were whole and new again. Go figure. If Dean had been in possession of his body, he’d have been in the hospital for two months, minimum._

 _Michael looked again, tried to sense the absence of something, to find Lucifer and finish this once and for all. But there was nothing now. Lucifer had realised how he was found and had corrected it._

 _There was a vibration to the air, something coming towards him. It took a moment for him to recognise just who it was. When the angel appeared before him, Dean felt nothing but anger surge through him._

 _  
**“Zachariah.”**   
_

_That’s all Michael said. Then again, Michael didn’t seem too thrilled to see him. But even Dean was getting a sense that Michael didn’t understand how Zachariah so grossly misunderstood God, when he was quite clear on the position of humans. Dean elaborated for him, saying that Zachariah said that Heaven wanted this to happen. That bright rage came once more. And then Michael did something surprising._

 _Dean found himself in control of his body once again. The armour felt strange as did the sword by his side. He knew that between the armour and the sword it’s about thirty extra pounds. But he didn’t feel it. This body felt strange, as if he had superpowers or something. It felt like electricity was dancing along his skin and nerve endings, just waiting for him to will it into something. He looked around and the colours seemed oversaturated. The grass was too green and the sky so blue it’s nearly blinding. He could still feel Michael lurking, waiting for him to do something. He looked down and saw Zachariah kneeling; Zachariah making fucking obeisance? Dean could have laughed; he was surprised the angel could get over his inflated ego and self-righteousness._

 _He looked at Zachariah for a moment before he moved. His foot connected beautifully with Zachariah’s face, sending him sprawling back with a gash on his lower jaw and a growing bruise on his face. Zachariah got up quickly, looking confused. That expression was quickly wiped off his face when he realised Michael wasn’t driving._

 _“Not funny, Dean.” Zachariah said warily._

 _“Could have fooled me,” Dean sneered. Even his voice sounded weird to his ears, resonating with anger barely contained. “Why did you let it get this far?”_

 _Panic flashed on Zachariah’s face for a moment. “Those were our orders.”_

 _“From?” Dean could sense Michael’s impatience with this angel, who took far too much into his own hands._

 _Zachariah looked like he wanted to say, ‘God’ but obviously thought better of it. “Phanuel.”_

 _And with that one word, Michael knew Zachariah was lying. Dean knew it. Memories flickered through his mind, like a stilted, lurching slideshow, and Michael provided the words. “Phanuel had the human experience two thousand years ago on our God’s orders. People are still talking about it. They based a cult around his time here. He wouldn’t want this for us. Try. Again.”_

 _If Zachariah could sweat, he would have been drowning in buckets now. He’d been caught red-handed with his hand in the cookie jar. And he couldn’t even threaten Dean like he did the last time with the stomach cancer or stealing Sam’s lungs. It was all on his shoulders now. And in that moment, Dean got an inkling of what it must be like for Zachariah. The weight of the world on one’s shoulders was one thing, but trying to orchestrate things so that Lucifer was released and killed just in time so that paradise could come to earth… that’s something else Dean couldn’t even begin to try and comprehend._

 _It was a barely passable plan in theory. In execution it’s a terrible plan that had far too many loopholes. But no one was talking to Zachariah, telling him anything. It didn’t help that no one could find God. Metatron was still searching, as were Castiel and a select few now. So Zachariah and some other high-ranking angels had remained behind and done their best. That was what had led to the fractious Uriel and others in Heaven._

 _When Zachariah met his eyes once more, it’s as if he saw that Dean realised how it was. His shoulders sagged heavily and a weary sigh escaped his lips. “We didn’t know what else to do. No one answered us. And after all this time, don’t you think Our Father would want paradise on earth for his children?”_

 _He felt the disconnect coming this time, felt Michael coming back in and control slipping away once more. Dean watched as Michael moved, resting his hands on Zachariah’s shoulders._

 _ **“Do you think he’d want it this way?”** that’s all Michael said to Zachariah._

 _For a moment, there’s a deep welling of sorrow from Zachariah, but the other angel clamped down on it. There’s sorrow, true, but there wasn’t a shred of regret. Zachariah was sorrowful of what had come to pass, but didn’t feel sorry for doing what he felt he had to at the time. Dean took disagreement with that. Stage four stomach cancer wasn’t fun, no matter how you diced it._

 _“What news?” Michael looked at Zachariah._

 _“The Croatoan virus is moving fast. About half of the world is infected now.” Zachariah’s voice was quiet._

 _Michael frowned at that. The Croatoan virus wasn’t supposed to move that fast. How could so many be infected in so short a period of time?_

 _And just like that, Dean saw the flash of the future that Michael saw if this continued unimpeded._

 _All it would take was fourteen more days. Fourteen more days and then Hell would be unleashed on Earth._

 _People would flood the hospitals, seeking medical attention for the coughing up of blood. People would be sent back home, told to wait and try again in the next few days. Some would go about their lives. Go to work, go to school, figuring they could just trudge on through it. And then, about six hours after that they’d go mad, reverting back to primal instincts that render them like animals again. The hospitals and other buildings would become bloody cages full of violence and infection spreading. Then the buildings would become bloody mausoleums, filled with corpses of people unable to defend themselves._

 _Planes would be felled, ships run aground and chaos would consume the planet._

 _The Croatoan virus would spread quickly from there, snaking out from the densely populated urban centers in towards the countryside._

 _The countryside was where the lines would hold however. People with guns, blades, any sort of weapon… they’d learn to fight fast and efficiently. Anyone who caught the virus would be killed immediately, irregardless. Already people had seen what happened if emotions got in the way. Usually death was what happened. No one was willing to take the chance of infection to go the futile route of saving a loved one._

 _All that would emanate from the Earth to Heaven would be the prayers of the survivors mingled with the unholy howls of the Croatoan infected._

 _Lucifer’s plan will have succeeded._

 _It all came and went so fast that if Dean still had a head, it would be aching pretty badly right about now. All Michael was grimly focusing on was that the virus was still spreading and Lucifer still had one more Horseman to raise. Until Famine walked the Earth, all bets were off._

 _ **“Zachariah, you and the others, see if you can find Lucifer in seventy two hours.”** That’s the most Michael could give them. Dean felt like it was way too much time, but he’s not calling the shots. **“After that we’ll have to go with alternative methods.”**_

 _Zachariah nodded in agreement and promptly disappeared. Dean wondered for a moment what these ‘alternative methods’ were when Michael looked back at the gaping hole in the section of the mountain. The ragged ends of the Appalachians appeared faint in the distance to either side. Shit, Dean thought Michael and Lucifer did a hell of a number on it._

 _ **“Such is Michael’s Wrath.”** Michael murmured softly._

 _There’s a crack of a branch from behind. Dean wished he could turn and see what it was. Michael didn’t bother and a second later, Dean knew it was people, coming to see the damage wrought. At least some people on the mountain survived that battle. Michael wasn’t too concerned with the people. They weren’t injured, just curious as to whom he was._

 _He had far more pressing things to worry about, finding Lucifer for one, and then his Father._

 _But these humans needed something. Michael inhaled deeply, letting his Grace course through him. He didn’t show his wings, just the merest hint of them as a shimmer in the air. The plants at his feet exploded, growing fast and riotous and spreading outwards._

 _Michael directed his Grace through the ground, seeking out the site of the portal. It was like a dark abyss of nothing, a hungry maw that would suck Michael’s Grace from him if it could. Suck it dry and leave him a withered husk. But Michael had done this before and before Dean even realised it, Michael was pulling shut the edges of the portal. It took all of thirty seconds to seal it shut. It felt like a puckered scar on the world, one that no one would see._

 _An audible gasp came from the people unseen, and Dean thought that maybe Michael was a bit of a show-off. Michael figured something that inspired faith couldn’t possibly be a bad thing._

 _And with that, Michael teleported away from the town of Marlinton._

__________________________________________________________________________

Two days was how long it took Ash to forgive Michael. She still couldn’t believe he was actually caring about something as stupid as her menstrual cycle. That had to be the single most humiliating moment of her life. It was even worse than when she accidentally walked in on Luke taking care of his morning wood.

It didn’t help that he was right: one night of good solid rest and three decent meals in a row and then a day of cramps that she’d rather not repeat. By her count, if everything wasn’t too out of whack, they’d be back on the road in about three or four more days.

This was one of those times she really wished Michael would mind his own business.

She shifted in bed with a contented sigh. The room was still dark and there was still darkness coming in from the small window. A candle, nearly finished, sputtered slightly in the air. Dawn was coming, she could practically feel it. But she still woke up a bit before it out of habit. Considering her most pressing matter today was to get some breakfast in her belly and then wander down to the library to do some more studying, she figured she’d sleep in for a bit. Given the sun was nowhere near to rising yet, she had another two hours probably, three if she wanted to be indulgent and lazy and… why was she hearing the jingle of a belt?

All it took was opening her eyes slightly to see. Michael was standing beside his bed, getting dressed. She contemplated going back to sleep but decided no.

“Heading out somewhere?” Ash hated it when her voice sounded rough with sleep.

“Out,” Michael finished with his belt and then shrugged on his coat. Then he walked over to her bed and crouched down. “I figured you were asleep.”

Ash shrugged loosely before asking. “Where?”

“A little side trip, I guess,” Michael paused for a moment before finishing with, “I thought I’d go and see the site of Dean Winchester’s death.”

Ash closed her eyes, mulling it over. Spend all day with her nose buried in a book inside a building or outside getting some fresh air and taking Zeppelin and Impala out? She breathed deeply, not really wanting to get out of bed. But then Michael spoke the only magical words that would rouse her from bed so quickly.

“I have a cherry rhubarb pie.”

She opened one eye and looked at him. “Anything else?”

“A meat pie. And some of the first strawberries of the season.”

Ash sat up and looked at Michael. Obviously, he paid a trip to the kitchen. But how he came back with the mother-lode was beyond her. Sweet-talking people was never something Michael was good at. She glanced over at his bed and sure enough, there was a woven sack there, with shapes bulging out.

“Give me five minutes.”

Michael grinned as he got up, grabbed the sack and left the room quietly. It didn’t take her long to get dressed, even including the strange underwear contraption that a Sister had given her. All Ash knew was that it wasn’t as bulky as the things her mom had given her back home and it was enough for her. She opened the door, adjusted her blade sheathes and then shrugged into her coat. Michael was leaning against a wall, looking bored but when he spotted her he pushed off. They hurried down to the stables in the early morning silence.

By the time they saddled up and were riding out, the sky was tinged with grey. She let Zeppelin set the pace and Michael led the way. It felt good, just the two of them again. No third person they had to watch their words with. The morning was filled with easy conversations and light jokes. Ash hadn’t realised it but travelling on the road, constantly keeping watch… it was stressful. If Michael hadn’t insisted on coming with her, it would have been doubly stressful.

Maybe when gooseberries were in season, she’d find some way to make a tart. He loved those things. Or something else, if she managed to screw that up beyond any salvation. It was entirely possible.

It was when the sun was rising that Michael drew Impala up. “We’re here.”

All Ash saw was a slight clearing that was overgrown. There were lines that were slight mounds, rising up from the ground. It looked like a house had stood here once. For some reason though, the trees hadn’t grown over it. And considering how thick the trees were on either side, this house had been gone for a long while. She just looked as Michael dismounted and started looking for a spot for the horses. When he found one, she finally dismounted as well and gave him a hand. She peered in the bag as Michael snapped out a cloak and laid it down on the ground. The pies smelled absolutely mouth-watering and –

“Are you just going to stare at breakfast or are you going to share it?” Michael asked easily as he sat down.

Ash pulled a face for a moment before she sat down as well. The pies were pulled out as well as the small basket of strawberries. Her knife made quick work of the meat pie, slicing it up into sixths. They didn’t say anything for a long moment, lying back on the cloak, eating breakfast and watching the sun rise. It was only after her third piece of meat pie and the sun had made the sky pink and orange that Ash spoke again.

“This was a good idea,” Ash paused, wiping the crumbs from her mouth and flicking them into the grass. “Should do this at Lazarus.”

“Mmm.” That was all Michael managed around a mouthful of pie. He chewed hastily and swallowed. “That’s not too far from here.”

Ash shook her head. “Nah, just a bit less than a week’s journey.”

“Good, we’ll get there by the end of the month,” Michael reached over and took another piece of pie.

Ash laid back, listening to the birds and watching the sky gradually lighten into a bright clear blue. After a few minutes the sound of paper came. A glance over showed that Michael had pulled out the Gospels of Chuck and was flipping through it, eyes intent. She watched the pages turn under his fingertips for a moment before she spoke again.

“Where do you think Gatuluk got that paper?”

Michael shrugged. “I have no idea. I don’t even think that was his name.”

“There had to have been some reason why he bothered to travel with us for so long,” Ash propped herself up on elbows. “No one who’s angling for something just willingly pays for protection they don’t need and gives stuff away to boot.”

“Good point,” Michael’s fingers stilled on the book’s pages. “Most of that stuff is all about vampires and werewolves, nixies and such. There are only two things that stand out in it.”

“Like?” Ash reached over and helped herself to a fourth slice of pie.

Michael looked uneasy for a second. “Croats and something called Abaddon.”

“Croats?” the pie slice sat in Ash’s hand, temporarily forgotten. “You lop off their head and you’re good. They bite you, you get infected, simple as that.”

“It’s more complex than that. Gatuluk’s notes say it’s something called a virus.”

“A…” Ash turned the word over in her mind before finishing with, “What the hell is that?”

Michael looked thoughtful for a moment. “My teacher said that there were things so tiny you couldn’t see them and they’d make you sick. A virus is one of them,”

Ash snorted. “Right. And I’m Jesus, arisen from the dead.”

“I think she was right, you know. She had studied lots of things to prove it. Like… all right, why shouldn’t you drink downstream of where you find animal scat on a riverbank?”

“Because that’s just nasty,” Ash took a bite of pie.

Michael shook his head. “Okay, why do we constantly boil the water from streams?”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy drinking fish pee.”

“What?” Michael spluttered for a moment before he composed himself. “So you’ll drink boiled fish pee, but not unboiled fish pee?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Logic says: the fish can’t leave the water, so it pees in it. So you’d rather drink boiled fish pee than unboiled fish pee.”

“So do you.” Ash retorted.

Michael scrubbed a hand over his face. “But do you see what I’m saying? We boil our water if we get it from a stream, we’re careful about where we get our water from, even rain barrels. Ever notice who it is that gets sick a lot?”

“People that don’t know better.”

“Precisely,” Michael picked a strawberry, twisted off the green part and popped it in his mouth. “So couldn’t it be argued that something gets in the water, or is in the water itself, that can make people sick?”

Ash raised an eyebrow at him. “So your teacher thinks that these… things,”

“Viruses.” Michael elaborated.

“Whatever. They can get into the water and possibly make us sick?”

“Yes.”

Ash stared at Michael, her brain turning it over. Water was liquid and these… virus things could survive in it. And if Gatuluk’s notes were saying that it was a virus that made a person into a Croat… “People become a Croat through blood and not the bites?”

“Well, the bite seems to be the means for the infection to take root and spread. But that’s what Gatuluk seemed to be implying. I mean, think about it. The Croats we saw had blood around their mouths. Even in Gatuluk’s notes, it seemed to mention the oddity of fresh blood perpetually around the mouth. So if a Croat bites someone, the chance of passing off the virus is guaranteed.”

“Lucifer was sneaky,” Ash muttered before quickly. “No wonder he nearly succeeded. And what was that second one? Abaddon?”

Michael rubbed at the back of his neck. “I still don’t know much about that. I couldn’t really find anything in the library to double check what Gatuluk had. That’s probably not a good sign.”

Ash just nodded her head in agreement as she finished off her slice of meat pie. Getting something given to them by a demon that they couldn’t verify themselves? It made her just feel uneasy, like there was a trap hidden away somewhere. Silence came as they both started eating strawberries. When they were almost done, Michael looked over at her.

“Maybe there’s nothing malignant behind it at all,” he opened the Gospel of Chuck. “And so did Crowley look at the brothers Winchester and proclaim, ‘How could I forget that you two are functional morons’.”

Ash blinked at that, Gatuluk’s words popping back into her head.

“‘After some conversing did he give the Colt unto them, and Dean did ask, ‘Are you not signing your own death warrant?’ Crowley did sneer at him, ‘Lucifer will kill us anyway. I plan on being anywhere else but here. So pray don’t miss, you morons!’ ”

For some reason, Ash couldn’t shake the totally irrational thought that seemed to grip her mind.

“So if a demon can give somebody something useful before, maybe there’s a good reason this time.” Michael finished.

Ash really didn’t like the implications in that sentence. Given the context in which Crowley had given the Colt to the Winchesters, having a demon popping up now and randomly giving information to them… it was honestly making her feel uneasy. Michael was peering at her now, with a worried look on his face.

Ash looked him right in the eye and said, “Any of that passage sound oddly familiar?”

It took Michael a moment. Confusion made him furrow his brows but a second later, it dawned on him. “Surely not, there’s no evidence proving so.”

“And none proving against,” Ash answered flatly.

A troubled look came to Michael’s face before he hid it away. “Tell me more then. What did Lucifer get up to after his fight with Michael?”

Not for the first time, Ash was very thankful that Michael would take momentary distractions from problems. She plucked her copy of the Gospels of Chuck from his hands. It took her a bit to find the page. But when she did, she started reading.

__________________________________________________________________________

 _Lucifer’s rage was much like a storm. Maelstrom, hurricane, call it whatever, but it was strong and powerful. It took all of Sam’s concentration to not get swept up in it. That in and of itself wasn’t easy by any means. It sucked and pulled at him, threatening to obliterate what he was._

 _Battling Michael had taken more out of Lucifer than even the fallen angel had realised._

 _It wasn’t until Lucifer teleported away and hastily amended the Enochian sigils burned onto the ribs that Sam realised what Michael had done._

 _Michael had pretty much beaten the shit out of Lucifer._

 _That entire battle had felt almost nightmarish to Sam. No matter how much he had sniped and taken swings at his brother, they always found some way to make up after it was all said and done. But seeing Dean’s face come barrelling towards him, sword held high-_

 _Sam felt as if he had a pretty good idea of where the expression, “where angels fear to tread” came from. If Michael was the one they sent after you that was pretty damned terrifying._

 _The deadly intent on Dean’s face had been unmistakable, as had that resolute expression in those hazel eyes. Michael had been smart, clothing Dean’s body in armour; breastplate, shin guards, it was all in place. Michael obviously wanted something extra to take the potential blows._

 _Lucifer hadn’t bothered with armour. And it was only now that Lucifer seemed to realise the foolishness of his pride. The damage Michael had dealt was significant. Sam was certain that if Lucifer wasn’t healing his body even right now, Sam would have died about forty seconds into that fight._

 _Being flung into the ground like that alone, would have turned him into pulp._

 _Lucifer’s rage was subsiding now, angry little ebbs and flows against his consciousness. All that anger was being directed to more productive ends. Since Lucifer had taken possession of Sam’s body, Sam had gotten quite good at eavesdropping on the angel. He could do it now and Lucifer wouldn’t notice about half of the time._

 _“Father?” a familiar voice came from behind._

 _Of course Meg would come looking now, damned bootlicking bitch. She came around the side, her expression hard when she saw Lucifer. Her hands clenched into fists and she crouched down, looking into his eyes._

 _“I’ll kill him for daring to lay a hand on you.” Meg’s voice was angry and vengeful._

 _Sam could feel how Lucifer took comfort in it. He also picked up a trace of something else from Lucifer, disgust maybe?_

 _ **“No, I don’t need that of you now,”** Lucifer rose to his feet, ignoring the prod of ribs against lungs. In another few moments, it would all be healed. **“I need something else.”**_

 _“Anything.”_

 _Meg’s eyes were shining as Lucifer bent his head and kissed her gently. He drew back slightly, lips just against hers. **“Find me another place to raise Famine, one that the archangels can’t find.”**_

 _Lucifer drew back and there was nothing but determination in Meg’s eyes. “I’ll find somewhere.” She said._

 _ **“Good girl.”** Lucifer stroked a thumb across her cheek._

 _The smile that came to Meg’s face was like she’d seen the face of God and was blessed. Sam thought it was more like she’d fucked Lucifer and was especially damned among the demons._

 _Meg disappeared after giving Lucifer a lingering look. All Lucifer could think was that he still had his work cut out for him. The Croatoan virus was spreading, rapidly, amongst humans who had no idea of the horror their world would soon become. Meg would undoubtedly find a place for him to raise the final Horseman. Any task given to her, she’d proven herself admirably._

 _Sam listened as Lucifer’s thoughts rambled on… ‘trying to figure out some way to mask the sheer raw emptiness of the portals that could raise Famine’ … ‘The real trick was that the portal was fine until it’s activated.’ Lucifer’s thoughts went on like this when Sam decided to try it._

 _Slipping back into his body was not as easy as it seemed. It’s a bit like trying to push through a rubber band. It wanted to snap him back into place. All he needed was one hole to slip through, something, anything._

 _Just like that, for a moment, one single moment, Sam was looking out at the world through his own eyes. His body ached worse than ever, sore and tender all over. But everything seemed wrong. His skin, bones and flesh, seemed to be crawling, trying to transmogrify into who knew what. The air around his body felt electric, like an aura that he must bend and shape to his will. And the colours… the colours of the world seemed as if they’re too much. Oversaturated and overexposed, for that one moment, it truly hurt to look at the world._

 _And just as easily, he was back in his cage, watching as Lucifer stretched. The broken bones had fully mended and it’s just things that were ruptured and bruised that were healing up._

 _  
**“Sam, what are you –”**   
_

_All Sam did was give Lucifer the same reaction as always. Those mental walls got slammed up and once more Lucifer was blocked out. Under no circumstances could Sam allow Lucifer to find out that he had actually managed to take back possession of his body, no matter how momentarily._

 _The moment Lucifer found that out was the moment Sam would truly die._

 _After a bit, Sam carefully eavesdropped once again. Lucifer was mulling over ways to shorten the length of the ritual or how to mask the portal. Anything to buy him some time long enough to bring about the end of humankind._

 _There was only one danger to Sam’s plan that he could see. He would have to continually find chinks in the armour and work them open. And he’d have to practice it as much as he could. Not to mention not getting caught by the devil. Dean… if Dean was still alive, he would kick Sam’s ass if he knew that he was still developing his powers. Well kind of, but this time, there was no demon blood and something good would definitely come out of it. But as much of a headache as it would be, it was worth it._

 _The next time Michael fought Lucifer, Sam wanted it to be the last and final time._

__________________________________________________________________________

Travelling to the village off Lazarus had been the shortest, and most enjoyable, part of the pilgrimage so far. After spending the day out of the Order building, they’d arrived back with the coming of night. Michael had sought out the library and Ash had disappeared. Michael figured it was to get some more tattoos done. Personally, he couldn’t figure out why someone would lie on a table for a few hours on end and willingly let someone jab a sharp stick, with some sort of colour, into their skin.

Michael had turned in early around midnight. When Ash came stomping in a bit after he fell asleep, she left him be. The next few days were spent taking stock of supplies and seeing to getting extra things from the town. Michael took the coins and managed to find a decent canteen for Ash. No more sharing one and their water supplies would stretch farther.

The pelts he managed to sell, even with the coming of summer. Michael left the general store with more hardtack, dried fruits – something other than apples – and, after a quick stop at the blacksmith’s, a small precious vial of oil of cloves. Weapons didn’t magically maintain themselves, despite what the ancient tales said.

Three days later and they were riding out from Morsima with the coming of the dawn.

And now, after the quickest week travelling, the village of Lazarus was coming up slowly but surely. The sun was already out, and the air was warm. Their cloaks had been rolled up and tucked away almost as soon as they saddled up and broke camp for the day. It seemed that they were a lot closer to Lazarus than they had realised last night. They could have pushed on, but Michael didn’t like to ride at night unless it was an absolute emergency. He’d seen too many idiots injure their horses in the dark.

Truth be told, Michael wished he realised what was wrong with Ash before. She’d gone from her usual self to cranky and irritable for so long, that he should have realised the obvious. A guy didn’t live with two other sisters without picking up a thing or two. When he glanced over at Ash, there was a scowl on her face.

Sometimes she didn’t know when to let something go. If Michael had to bet, she was still trying to figure out exactly what Gatuluk’s motives were. Considering the demon probably wouldn’t be in their vicinity for the foreseeable future – and possibly their lifetime – Michael didn’t linger on it. If an answer came, he’d consider himself lucky.

Ash usually preferred her world to be a little more black and white. Things like this would drive her to distraction.

Shifting in the saddle, Michael looked around. The main path into town was well worn. But just up ahead a few feet, he could see a path veering off through the trees. “Hey.”

“Hmm?” Ash gave him a vague response.

“Feel like exploring a bit before we find some beds for tonight?”

Ash looked over at him with an eyebrow raised in question. All Michael did was point to the path that veered off. Indecision flashed in her eyes for a moment before she shrugged and nodded. They turned their horses onto the veering path. It narrowed down, and sloped upwards. They dismounted and walked up. It took Michael a bit to notice that the trees were slowly thinning out. He paid attention to the ground, noticing that the smaller plants were lessening out.

“Give me Impala’s reins.”

Ash’s voice made him jerk his head up. “Huh?”

“Give me the reins. I’ll find somewhere safe to put the horses. I don’t want to take them up too far. The ground rises more steeply.”

“Okay,” Michael handed the reins over. A quick glance up showed the ground did just what she said. There was still a worried look on her face, so he said, “Something on your mind?”

“Nah,” Ash started walking through the thinning brush with the horses. Then she threw over her shoulder, “You know, you could have picked something other than boiled fish pee to argue with.”

Michael watched her disappear with a slight smile before he started up the incline. She still sounded a bit worried but was obviously making an effort on his part. He’d take that. She’d eventually wrestle through with the problem by herself.

He stretched his gait, pulling himself up the path. Without the cover of brush, Michael noticed the distinct lack of things poking up. Sometimes in places like this where the ground cover thinned out, things from the Old Days could be seen. Some were strange, smooth and black, while others were impossibly long and solid bits of gleaming metals… it was all odd and the lack of them made Michael feel a little bit more on edge.

When he reached the top, he paused for a moment. There was a slight depression here, but it was the sheer size of it that got to Michael. It was large and all the trees were flattened. Vines had grown over the trees, making it look like someone had taken a comb to the ground itself.

Down in the center of the flattened tree was a cross and a hole. A shiver ran over his skin as he realised this truly had been a grave at one point. With slow steps he walked down, looking closer at the curiosity in the center. The cross was overgrown, a twisted mass of vines and leaves. As he walked closer, he realised there were small purple looking spheres on the vines.

“Grapes?” Michael frowned and squinted at that.

A quick pause and look around proved that all the vines were in fact grapes. Strange, it was pretty much June and grapes weren’t in season yet. Once he reached the hole… well, he might as well call it what it was. Once he reached the grave, he crouched down. What was even weirder was that the grape vines were growing out of the grave.

The shiver along his skin increased, feeling a lot like when he touched something furry and there was sometimes a spark. He shifted onto his knees, bracing a hand against the edge, intending to peer in. But his mind wandered as he stared down into the grave.

This had been the grave Dean Winchester was resurrected in – under the ground. Much like the hero of the saga, ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ that his sister Jael loved so much, Dean probably had to claw his way out from under the ground. Just thinking about it made him feel a bit panicked and sweaty.

Hell alone probably wasn’t an easy thing. The Bible claimed it was full of suffering and torture for the worst things ever committed by a person. Michael could see that, a deep, dark pit that was filled with carved souls and the ever-present stench of blood, sulphur and agony. No way of escape, no way to attain some, any, form of absolution and then redemption. But then, even as Dean had fallen, the Heavenly Host had come charging in to save Dean. What had the angels found then? A twisted, perverted Dean that had been a pale shadow of his former self? Was it a Dean that cowered from the blinding light of the Host¸ unwilling to leave? Or maybe it was a Dean that had a shred of his former self, and had railed even as the angel Castiel gripped him tight and raised him from perdition.

The touch of the angel would have burnt, just adding one more layer to the noxious stench of hell. And Dean would have been pulled up, pulled up, even as his body was brought back to some semblance of life from the rotting corpse it once had been.

And then to come back to life, buried beneath the earth, trapped in a small, rectangular coffin? The confusion and panic must have been overwhelming. To go from a person who gave in to Hell, joined its ranks only to be pulled free by an angel and given some kind of holy mission that Heaven itself had devised.

Michael felt his breath hitch in his chest, as if he’d forgotten to breathe and he breathed in deeply; then came the sharp sense of panic, of some dark visible just out of the corner of his eye and right beside him. Then a hand came down on his shoulder and pulled him back. Just from the shape of it, pressed against his clothing, he knew it wasn’t Ash.

This was a person who was… who was… Michael forced the thought from his mind, sliding his free hand underneath his jacket to grab his knife.

The movement happened in a single burst. Michael jumped back, drew his makhaira and lowered his body into a fighting stance. The sun had dazzled his eyes for a moment, and he couldn’t really see the man. The person was still haloed by the bright sun and he couldn’t look at them directly.

“Are you all right?” the person moved in closer to him, blocking out the sun.

Michael blinked rapidly as his sight adjusted. The bright halo gradually vanished, leaving behind a scruffy looking man. He looked dishevelled with a rumpled coat, long and tan, black pants and a white shirt with a tie that were wrinkled. His clothes were covered in bits of leaves and twigs. Plus, he looked like he already needed a shave. Michael stopped though when he got a good look at the man. There was something disturbingly familiar about him.

“Judging from how you’re holding that blade, I’d say you are,” the man looked at him and then shrugged loosely. “You seemed to be in trouble.”

“I wasn’t in trouble.” Michael didn’t bother to hide the wary tone to his voice.

The man gave him a look that said he clearly begged to differ. “You nearly fell into Dean Winchester’s grave.”

All Michael did was make a non-committal sound. He’d just been crouching on the side. He was fairly sure that he hadn’t moved one bit. The man stepped forward offering his hand for a shake.

“You can call me Lawrence.”

Michael watched the man as he stood up straight, but still left the makhaira out. “Just Lawrence? No last name?”

“No last name,” Lawrence affirmed. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

“Fine.” Michael watched the man for a bit longer before he finally asked, “What about you? Did you sleep outside?”

“Mmm?” Lawrence looked down at his clothes and started brushing away bits of stuff before smoothing out some wrinkles. “No. I was passing through.”

After a moment of silence, Michael re-sheathed his makhaira. Lawrence didn’t seem to be one for small talk. Lawrence moved, turning to look down into the hole in the ground.

“They say this place was dead for almost a hundred years afterwards.”

The words were kind of abrupt and sudden after the moment of silence. Michael turned to look at Lawrence. The other was just standing there, still looking at the hole. There’s a strangely wistful look on his face. For some inexplicable moment, Michael felt like he was intruding on a private moment of some kind and that he should leave. Lawrence turned to look at him, that blue-eyed gaze intent.

“What are you doing here?” Lawrence’s question, for all its presumption, was softly worded.

“I’m on a pilgrimage.” Michael simply stated.

Lawrence glanced over at him before adding, “A Hunter’s pilgrimage.”

“Yes.”

“Anything interesting happen?”

Well, aside from a werewolf and a demon tagging along with them… “It was as interesting as you’d expect it to be.”

“I see,” Lawrence regarded him for a moment before he said, “I’d like to give you something - a weapon.”

Now, that made Michael’s eyebrows rise up. A completely random stranger was willing to part with a weapon? That didn’t make any sense, but he just nodded his head and spoke a moment later.

“Uh huh.”

Lawrence didn’t say anything as he reached underneath his jacket and slowly pulled out a knife that was still sheathed. The hilt looked old and worn like it was wood.

“I have no use for it. I thought you might.” Lawrence tossed it over.

The knife landed in the vines by Michael’s feet with a surprisingly heavy thud. Faint streaks of brown on the handle seemed worn down into the pale ivory. After a few moments, Michael crouched down and picked it up. It had good weight to it and the sheath looked like it had been taken care of. It was very travel worn, but in good shape. There was no safety clasp, so he grasped the hilt and pulled the blade out.

The writing along the flat of the blade was the first thing that caught his attention. He had no idea of what it was, but it just looked like a bunch of scribbles to him. For some reason though, the knife felt funny in his hand and all he could think was that this weapon had seen a lot of blood. He turned it over, seeing the same writing on the other side of the blade. Then he looked at Lawrence.

“So you’re just giving this to me?” Michael figured there had to be a catch in there somewhere.

Lawrence shrugged. “I don’t have a need for it. I’d rather see it be put to use than just lying somewhere in the dark.”

Michael just looked at the blade as he sheathed it. He and Ash were heading to the Order building after they were done here. It wouldn’t take much to talk to someone and see about having it blessed. Lawrence chuckled, making Michael look back up.

“What?”

“You don’t have much faith.”

Silence followed on the heels of Lawrence’s words. Michael just stared, not quite too sure what to say in response. After a bit, he cleared his throat.

“I don’t know who you think you are, telling me that.”

“I know it sometimes takes a stranger to see what you can’t,” Lawrence turned to face him. “You make an effort of it, you believe what you see. Maybe that’s enough for you at the moment,”

“Listen, the question of my faith –” Michael began.

Lawrence just continued. “But at some point, you might need more. You might need the strength and conviction that blind faith can give.”

Michael quickly snapped, “Blind faith is what gets people killed sometimes.”

“Michael, you’re doing this because of her.”

Alarm flashed through Michael at that, making him grit his teeth. He hadn’t once told Lawrence his name.

“She knows why she does this. Don’t let her be your only reason for undertaking this. Extreme co-dependency is a dangerous thing.”

All Michael did for a moment was glower. He didn’t need to be lectured at by a stranger at a gravesite of all places. He held up the knife. Maybe if he got Lawrence talking about this knife, it would end the weird direction this conversation had taken.

“What’s it used for?”

All Lawrence did was look at Michael for a moment and replied, “You’ll know when the time comes.”

That was a terrible answer that told him nothing. Lawrence looked completely unbothered. A scowl came to Michael’s face and he opened his mouth to reply. So many words came to the tip of his tongue that he didn’t know where to start. Providence stepped in as the loud crack of a branch sounded from the top of the depression. Michael glanced up to see Ash’s head appear. She appeared and looked down at him. There was a smile on her face that was replaced with fear, sharp and pronounced.

“Michael, run!”

Confused, Michael looked back over at Lawrence only to find an empty spot. He quickly looked back at Ash to see her looking shocked now. She had her makhaira drawn and had been fully ready to charge in. Her steps slowed as she hurried down the slope. Michael could hear the squeak and pop of grapes being crushed under her steps.

“What, I can’t leave you alone for five minutes?”

The only reason why Michael didn’t snap back at her was because the fear in her voice was so palpable. “What do you mean? The person I was talking to?”

“I don’t think person is the right word. Maybe doppelganger is more like it.”

Nothing else was said for a moment as Ash pushed the hat from her head and ran a hand through her hair a couple of times. Michael wasn’t too sure what she was talking about. The man looked nothing like him. Well, at least he thought so. He hadn’t seen his own reflection in so long that he kind of forgot what he looked like.

“I don’t know what he was,” Michael finally said. “But he gave me this.”

Ash watched as he handed the knife to her. She took and inspected it, curiosity and wariness evident in her expression. After a moment, she handed it back to him.

“I want to get out of here now.”

That was all she said. Michael was inclined to agree with her. They hiked up the slight slope silently, got the horses and started walking into town. As they approached the spot where the path veered off, Ash finally spoke.

“I never even got to see the gravesite.”

All Michael could think was that some decidedly weird things were happening. On the surface, they didn’t seem connected, but there had to be some underlying thing that he and Ash were missing. First it was a demon and now a creature that was a doppelganger? No, not a doppelganger, but something else. Whatever Lawrence was, he didn’t have any negative intentions that Michael could discern. But why he would show up out of the blue and just give away a perfectly good knife… there was no figuring that one out.

“Hey,” Ash’s words were followed by a gentle shove to the shoulder. “You still with me?”

“Hmm? Yeah, we can come back later before we leave.” Michael pulled himself out of it. Some of Lawrence’s words stuck in his head though, “Ash.”

She looked over at him with a raised eyebrow, remaining silent.

“You don’t think we’re co-dependant, do you?”

Both of Ash’s eyebrows went up at that. She looked at him for a very long moment before asking, “Are you sure you’re not a girl?”

Michael frowned. “I can do without the jokes about my masculinity, thanks.”

“Don’t believe whatever that... thing back there told you,” Ash paused for a moment, scrutinising his face. “Huh.”

“Huh what?” This morning had already been strange enough for Michael.

“You _really_ need a shave. You’ve got a mini beard thing going.”

That took Michael by surprise. He scratched at his face, feeling coarse hair against his fingertips. “Christ.”

“Bring a straight razor with you?”

There was a pronounced silence from Michael and then, “I think that might be the one thing I forgot.”

Ash’s laugh was badly hidden and she didn’t bother to try covering it up. She continued for a few minutes and when she got her breath back, she shook her head. “We’ve still got some money left over. Tell you what: when we get to town, I’ll find you a razor and you can get us settled in at the Order building.”

“Works for me,” Michael grinned as he rubbed at his chin. “I didn’t even realise it grew so much.”

Ash shrugged loosely. “Neither did I to be honest,” Ash shrugged loosely as she looked at Michael again. “Want to know something?”

Michael stretched out an arm, feeling the pull of muscle work out the sudden stiffness. “What?”

“Dean Winchester wasn’t the only person Heaven resurrected.”

At the moment, Michael didn’t feel much like discussing the weird turn things had taken. That could be done later. “He wasn’t?”

“No. It was someone they needed.”

__________________________________________________________________________

 _The three days were almost up and Castiel still wasn’t back yet. Michael had hoped that Castiel and the others would find something, anything, about where Lucifer was hiding._

 _When Lucifer wanted something, he did his utmost to achieve it._

 _What he was finishing off now, was the back-up plan he had started working on after he sent Zachariah off. Crafting a body took time and effort. So much time and effort that Michael had to bend time and space a bit in order to have it done within the three day timeframe. Dean didn’t understand it all, but knew that the mathematics involved would probably have made Spock show some visible emotion._

 _It only took Michael a moment to have Ash’s coffin in front of him, in this strange dimension where time moved slower than molasses. The box was opened and those charred, blackened bones were removed and organised. No rebuilding something until Michael knew what he needed. The skeleton was reconstructed and prepared, the simple and easy part. No flakes of ash, no charred flesh melted into the bone, nothing; just smooth pure white bone. Muscles were trickier; they’re a slab of billions of cells tethered in place by thick tendons. Michael manipulated something and Dean watched as the muscles seemed to blossom out of nothing, clothing the skeleton in the first layer._

 _Blood vessels and nerves were next. They took the longest. Miles of blood vessels were laid out and Dean lost count of the gossamer strands of nerves that were laid out, leading up to the skull where the brain was worked on next._

 _All Dean could think was that he didn’t blame angels for taking vessels. Creating a body just from a skeleton alone was time consuming. Michael has been at this for what felt like weeks and he still wasn’t even started on a respiratory system, much less anything else really._

 _By Dean’s very inaccurate reckoning, remaking this body took Michael more than six months. He lost count after day one hundred eighty four._

 _Hair was next, millions of follicles just spontaneously sprouting a short length. The features were the last thing and when Dean saw them take shape, he’s honestly surprised. And Michael should probably change the hair._

 _ **“The hair? What’s wrong with it?”** Michael was clearly puzzled why something as inconsequential as hair mattered._

 _Dean realised what Michael had done was nothing less than a small miracle. But if Michael was planning on doing what Dean knew was coming, then the hair needed to be fixed. It’s gotta be business in the front and goddamn party in the back._

 _ **“You shouldn’t blaspheme.”** That’s all Michael said._

 _But the hair was fixed and, with Dean’s instruction, the right clothes produced. Michael did something to time and space once more and everything snapped back to how it was. When Michael turned and Dean caught a glimpse of a clock on the mantelpiece, only four hours had passed. Dean was not even going to try and attempt to figure that out. It was easier to try and think of ways to just outright kill Lucifer._

 _  
**“I don’t think you’d like to know what I have planned.”**   
_

_That made Dean take pause. But the upside was that he knew, whatever Michael was planning, it’d be quick._

 _  
**“As per your request.”**   
_

_There wasn’t really anything Dean could say to that. Michael snapped his fingers and clothes appeared on the once naked body. Even just looking at it, Dean could see it was an empty shell. It was waiting for its occupant to come back and start driving._

 _But Michael was waiting. Sometimes, that was the one thing Dean was never good at._

 _The seconds ticked on by and each one felt like a small eternity. Dean really wished Castiel would show up now, rather than later. Last time Castiel went after something involving Lucifer, the poor bastard had found himself trapped behind a ring of holy fire. A distinct sense of amusement came from Michael now. All Dean could think was that there really wasn’t anything funny to what he thought._

 _ **“On the contrary, you could say the world is coming down around us all, and you worry about my brother, as if he was yours.”** Michael paused before saying, **“When I see your capacity for love, it reaffirms my faith in humanity. But as much as humanity reaffirms, it destroys what it builds up.”**_

 _Well, Michael should have realised the human race was one messed up bucket of sunshine – even right from the get-go. That got Dean a chuckle that rolled right into a laugh. A deep sense of warmth suffused him and for a few minutes, Dean forgot about the impending apocalypse and was just content for once. There was nothing to worry about, just a deep, abiding sense that in these moments, everything was right in the world._

 _  
**“I am truly glad that I decided to keep you around, Dean.”**   
_

_Yeah that was Dean, always happy to be the comic relief. But if it gave some sort of levity to the situation, he didn’t mind. Because just looking at it in cold hard facts would have just worn him out that much faster._

 _ **“I concur.”** Michael agreed._

 _But then, he trailed off as the murmur of angels’ voices filled his mind. The buzz became a deafening clamour and after a moment, Michael cut it off. Castiel appeared a second later. The weird thing for Dean was that he could see space bend and literally spit Castiel out before going back to its original shape. If he wasn’t seeing this through angel vision, it would have looked like Castiel just popped out of nowhere. Castiel didn’t say anything, he just looked grim-faced and disappointed._

 _Michael rested a hand on Castiel’s shoulders before gesturing to the body on the table. **“There is always a plan.”**_

 _There was a curiously blank look on Castiel’s face at that before a vague sense of reassurance reached Dean. Michael stepped forward now, resting a hand on the body’s shoulder and across the chest. There’s just darkness as Michael closed his eyes and started to chant._

 _Dean didn’t know what the angel was chanting, but he could literally feel the power building. It was coiling up from the earth and being drawn from the air. It swirled around Michael, coalescing and feeding into his Grace, boosting it even more. The darkness slowly disappeared, leaving Dean seeing pale pink light against his eyelids. He’s glad Michael closed his eyes because the light would probably have burned out his eyes like Pamela’s._

 _The feel of excess power was all around, pressing down and demanding an outlet, Michael kept control of it, tethered it down into the body his hands were on. Slowly Dean could feel the tether working, slowly bringing everything in the body to life. All the body was missing now was a soul._

 _When Michael called out the final words of Enochian, the ground trembled as if it’s been split open and what would have been a deafening blast seemed like nothing more than an abnormally loud gust of wind. When Michael opened his eyes, Dean saw why Michael found an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere to do this._

 _The house was obliterated, blown outward by the forces Michael was channelling to perform the resurrection. Bits of wood litter looked like they were spread out for almost a mile, but that could just be Dean._

 _Oddly enough, the table the body was on was intact still. No wait, not the body any longer. There was that familiar stretching of arms, a deep breath and sniff followed by a scratch to the back of the head and the pronunciation of, “Dr Badass here. What do you need, Dean?”_

 _In all this craziness, hearing those words kind of made Dean feel happy. A sense of relief comes from Michael at seeing Miles looking around so alert. Dean couldn’t hide his surprise. He never would have pegged Dr Badass to have a very ordinary name like that. Miles was about as redneck as they came, but was as smart as a whip and didn’t give a flying shit what anyone thought._

 _“Uh, there a reason why you’re pulling a Russell Crowe gladiator look?” Miles, looking thoroughly confused now, glanced over at Castiel. “Who’s he?”_

 _ **“Miles,”** Michael said, drawing Ash’s attention again. **“We have work for you.”**_

 _Miles’ eyes just about popped out of his head. “You’re not Dean.”_

 _The confusion and wariness that came off Miles could be cut with a knife. **“I am the angel Michael. This is my brother, Castiel.”**_

 _“An angel?” Miles scoffed for a second before he scrutinised Michael closely. Whatever he saw resolved something because he threw up his hands. “So why’d you yank me out of… wherever?”_

 _ **“Heaven,”** Michael corrected. **“And I did so because we need you.”**_

 _That made Dean pause. Dr Badass here went to Heaven? Dr Badass, ‘Got myself kicked out of MIT for fighting’ went to heaven? When this was all over, Dean was having a serious talk with someone about the heavenly entrance standards._

 _“What do you need?” Miles scratched at his side now, giving Michael an ‘I’m waiting’ look._

 _ **“We need you to track Lucifer’s entourage.”** Michael paused. **“They are all hidden from us. But you were able to track Azazel for John Winchester.”**_

 _“Yep,” Miles rolled his shoulder and then cracked his knuckles. “About how many?”_

 _  
**“At least four.”**   
_

_“The Horsemen?” Miles asked._

 _  
**“Yes.”**   
_

_Miles didn’t say anything as he looked at Michael and then, “You guys sent Dean to heaven, right? It’s no less than he deserves, what with everything.”_

 _Well, at least someone was pulling for him, even if that someone was a resurrected Lynyrd Skynrd roadie wannabe._

 _“Well, maybe I’ll bump into him there eventually. I still wanna talk to him,” There’s a distracted look on Miles’ face that disappeared a moment later. “Okay, you get me to a computer shop, a credit card with no limit, and I’ll give you Lucifer’s entourage.”_

__________________________________________________________________________


	6. Chapter 6

Summer was Michael's favourite season, by far. Everything looked and smelled like it was full of life. Hunting for game was usually good and it was nice to just be outside. Travelling in such nice weather wasn’t an ordeal, by any means. If he didn’t know any better, Michael could have sworn that Ash felt more at home when they were travelling between sites. Their routine at Order buildings had become rote now. They’d get a room, separate if possible, and do their own thing and then bother to find one another after a day or so. But by the fourth day or so, Ash would become impatient and anxious. That only disappeared when they hit the road again.

In some ways, Michael couldn’t blame her. During the summer, he would have preferred sleeping outside underneath the stars as opposed to under a roof. He’d done it enough times at home. His parents had given up by the time he was fourteen and left his sleeping arrangements up to him. There was something about being outside, stretched out against the ground while gazing up at the night sky with a fire crackling beside you in its little pit.

The past two weeks travelling had been pretty good. Blue skies in the day and warm nights meant summer was well on its way. They wouldn’t really have to worry about food for the next few months at least when they could find it all around them.

“You’re thinking too hard again.” Ash’s voice sounded amused. “I can hear you from over here.”

Michael just shrugged. “Mind’s wandering is all.”

“You’ve been like this for the past two weeks, everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Thankfully I have you, my rock, to keep me sane.”

What Michael got in response was a snort and, “You’re such a girl.”

“Bah.” Michael huffed.

“Well, we should reach Maledictio in a bit. You know, that’s one thing I kinda like about staying at the Order buildings. – the baths.”

“Kinda?” Michael was sure when she found a hot bath way back in Shiloh on their second day there, the virtues of hot water had been extolled for a day. “You’ve changed your position on a hot bath?”

“No. It’s damned hard with tattoos though. Not really supposed to get them wet when they’re healing.” Ash shrugged. “Hungry?”

Michael shook his head. His stomach had been twisting up on itself for the past hour. “Not really.”

“Have something,” Ash reached back, dug around in the pack and handed him a piece of hard tack. “Maybe it’ll help your tummy.”

“My tummy?” Michael echoed with a grin.

“Oh shut up.”

Silence came as Ash pulled out her own canteen and something from the pack. Michael was chewing absently on the piece of hardtack, watching her. It was the berries they had found and picked two days ago. Normally, Michael would have been all over the gooseberries and wild strawberries, but his stomach had chosen then to act up.

It wasn’t getting any better as they continued on. He was getting a distinct feeling of something feeling… off. He shifted on Impala, glancing around. There was something off about this area. He couldn’t say what it was though. Only that it set him on edge and made him feel very uneasy.

Ash kept glancing over at him. Finally an hour later she asked, “What are you looking for?”

“Nothing.” Michael couldn’t help but look around again, couldn’t shake that feeling that something was waiting.

“You still not feeling too good?” Ash finally asked after looking at him for a bit.

“I’ll be fine.” Michael said, gnawing a bit on the hard biscuit.

Ash didn’t look convinced but she let it drop. The feeling slowly intensified as they got closer to Maledictio. By the time they reached the town outskirts, the only way Michael could think of to describe it was that it _all_ felt off. It was as if something had tainted the land, even the very air. Something was wrong when it felt like the air was moving sluggishly along his skin, in curling eddies he could feel up the length of his arms and legs.

By the time they got to Maledictio, Michael had finished the hard tack. It sat like a hard lump in his gut. As they passed through the town, the feeling intensified. It was when they passed by a strange building in the middle of town that Michael felt worse. Though, it more felt like he was going to throw up and then pass out.

The wrongness, the dissonance of it clamoured at him. He gritted his teeth, gripped his reins tighter and breathed sharply through his nose and he turned and looked at it for a minute before looking ahead. He was vaguely aware of Ash watching him with alarm in her eyes. But honestly, Michael was more intent on not throwing up his mid-afternoon snack.

The sensation all but disappeared once they crossed onto the grounds of the Order buildings. Michael couldn’t help but take a deep breath and sigh with relief. They stabled their horses and were escorted to a single room. Once the door was closed, Ash dropped her packs at the foot of the bed and let a scowl come to her face.

“Okay, spit it out.”

Michael looked at her. “What?”

“Something’s bothering you. Don’t know what, but you’ve been kind of weird for the past few weeks.”

The only protest Michael could think to say was, “I feel fine.”

“That’s not what I said. You can feel fine and still be acting weird. And you have been a few times.” Ash paused. “You sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”

“Not that I can really think of.” Honestly, Michael wasn’t too sure what she was even talking about.

“So when we walked through the middle of town…?”

“Upset stomach.” That was the only malady that made sense to him.

“Right,” Ash said the word slowly. “Then I’m going to see if I can find something for you in the kitchens.”

For the first time in a long while, Michael winced when Ash left and slammed the door loudly behind her. He didn’t go after her, tossing his packs on the bed and unbuckling his sword. The bed creaked softly as he sat down and Michael vaguely wondered if the ropes needed tightening.

“Christ.” The word sounded heavy and weary rolling off his tongue.

He ran a hand through his hair before curling his fingers in on the locks. Well, apparently both he and Ash had overlooked the fact that he needed a haircut as well, when he’d shaved. Well, when she’d shaved him. He was too tired to do it when they had arrived and she hadn’t wanted him, ‘looking like a scruffy mongrel.’ He rubbed his fingertips against his scalp. The slight tug and pressure was mildly relieving and he kept it up for a few minutes. There was something about this town that just didn’t sit right with him. Then there was that building in the middle of town, it was definitely a ruin. What had been strange was that it was just the remains of walls but what lay in the center of that ruin hadn’t made him feel better.

When he was little he’d pretend to be a giant kraken during his baths, something his father told him existed in the ocean, far away. He’d swirl his arms and watch the water turn into a cone and suck down his little wooden boat.

It looked like someone had done the same at the ruin here. Just stuck their arm in the earth, made it swirl and suck down God only knew what.

Another thing that didn’t help was that Michael had noticed their entire trip into Maledictio just after the sun passed its zenith… it was all sloping _downhill_. He didn’t think Ash noticed it, but a glance at the plants showed their roots definitely growing on an angle.

If Michael could see Maledictio as a bird would, he was certain he would see it sitting smack dab in the middle of a crater of some kind. And any bet that old ruin was at the very center of it. He got up and left the room, walking down the hall. He didn’t want to think about what could make a crater big enough to house a town. All this thinking and trying to puzzle out things was making his head ache. He didn’t bother to wander and find the chapel. After asking for directions from the closest person, he headed directly there.

The quiet of the chapel helped and once he closed the doors a bit, it was even better. The noises were muffled and the ache in his head was already lessening. He sat down on a pew, eyes wandering over to the front of the room.

This painting threw him a little bit. Other paintings were kind of dark and depressing and came singly or in a set of three. This one just had two. The first one was entirely dark save for a column of light that came from a hole of some kind in the ground. The second one just had an aggrieved looking man with a beard and at his feet a woman knelt and gazed up at him. The only thing on that woman’s face was adoration.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out the Winchester Gospels from an inner pocket. After a moment of scrutinising the pictures, he started flipping through. Only a few minutes had passed when the door creaked a bit. When he looked back, he was half expecting to see Ash there, glowering at him with a mug of tea in hand.

A dark haired woman was leaning in around the door. “Sorry. I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

“Uh,” Michael glanced back at the painting before he shrugged, “No, not really, just sitting here.”

The woman nodded as she stepped in and came to sit beside him. “I’m Sera.” She offered her hand.

“Michael,” He shook it as he took in her clothes. “You’re a Hunter as well?”

“No. I’m a nun. Well, a former nun. I got kicked out of my local church for speaking heresies, quote unquote.” Sera snorted. “Tell them one little fact and they kick you out on your ass. I thought those assholes were going to declare me a witch or the like.”

“Those assholes?” Michael hadn’t heard anyone refer to anything church-related that way. Then again, he wasn’t really a church sort of guy.

“Oh definitely; the apocalypse came and went by and while the church was screaming that it was the end of the world and Lucifer walked the earth, it was the so called criminals who saved their collective asses. Goddamned hypocritical is what it is.”

The only safe thing to do was nod his head. Michael heard far too much bitterness there to even think about stirring it. He pointed to the painting, asking, “So you know something of this?”

Sera beamed. “I do. I specialised in the lore of the Winchesters when I was ordained. Ironic that’s what got me kicked out, huh?”

“Mmm. Who’s that man?” Michael pointed to the second picture.

“That’s Chuck. Chuck Shurley, the prophet who wrote of Sam and Dean. The woman beside him is Becky Rosen. They eventually got married, settled down in Kripke’s Hollow, had a bunch of kids after the apocalypse.” Sera contemplated the painting for a moment before looking back at Michael. “How’s your pilgrimage going so far?”

“Could you tell?”

“Hon, the only ones who _ever_ ask about the paintings are the ones who are on pilgrimage for the first time and are kind of in over their heads.”

Michael just shrugged, “And that painting?”

“Oh, that one,” Sera whistled, low and long. “That is the release of Lucifer from hell, what kick-started the whole apocalypse. You know, this town became abandoned for a bit at the start of the twenty-first century. No one wanted to live here. Said it gave off bad vibes. But Hunters moved right in about, oh, 2036. Some brought their families with them.”

“It still has bad vibes,” Michael muttered.

“Pardon?” Sera peered at him. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

Michael shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Hmm,” Sera sounded like she didn’t believe it but didn’t say anything about it. “That’s how the Order was founded basically. And –”

The high squeal of the door hinges made him look back. This time it was Ash, stomping in with a mug in hand. Sera raised both eyebrows and looked back at Michael.

“Someone you know?”

“Yes. Uh, we need a moment.” Michael stood up.

“No problem.” Sera got up. “Anything else, just find me. I’m sort of the resident expert for a bit, out travelling and such. I’m here for another few days, so feel free to pick my brains if you like.”

Michael inclined his head slightly. “Thank you.”

Sera turned, giving Ash a small wave before she left the chapel and closed the door. Ash watched her go with a stony look. Once the door was closed Ash turned to him holding out the mug.

“Her brain isn’t the only thing she wants you to pick.”

“Ash!” Michael wished his face hadn’t gone bright red. “That’s completely inappropriate, don’t you –”

“No, I don’t. Give it about twenty minutes and she might have had you stretched out on the pew and ridden you to kingdom come.”

The blush felt like it was trying to burn its way through his skin. Michael took the mug of tea and started drinking just so he didn’t have to reply. Ash was seriously reading into things too much if she honestly thought Sera had any sort of lusty intentions towards him. Ash had crossed her arms and was giving him a strange look, from head to toe.

“What?” he grumbled after swallowing a mouthful of tea.

“You sure you grew up on a farm? You do know how sex works, right?”

Michael took a deep breath. Any kid that grew up on a farm and didn’t have some idea of how sex worked was extremely sheltered in his opinion. The exact mechanics of it between people was where he had vague ideas of what should happen. His own closest brush with sex had been a quick kiss behind the general store in Lawrence with Allison Hodge when he was fourteen. Though, it had comprised more of her ambushing him when his arms were full and he couldn’t mount a proper defence.

It hadn’t helped that she started blabbing about it to any kid who’d listen. When word had reached his parents, it had prompted a serious discussion. To this day he still didn’t recall vast portions of that conversation.

And he officially didn’t want Ash to keep up with this line of conversation. “You didn’t just come here to bring me tea.”

“No. I was wondering if you wanted to see my tattoos get done.” Ash uncrossed her arms. “My back’s completely done, so it’s my arms and chest now.”

For some reason, Michael’s gut decided to try and knot itself up a bit. Michael had fleeting thoughts about tracking down Sera and asking her more about Chuck Shurley – and that name had something niggling in the back of his mind – and how Lucifer escaping hell had changed Maledictio. Then there had been a nebulous plan to go to the library and do more studying.

But before he really thought about it, all that came out of his mouth was, “Of course.”

“All right, they told me to come down after dinner is served. So I’ve got about three hours to kill.”

Michael took a sip of tea before he said something he never thought he’d actually ever say to her. “We can go down to the library and study.”

“Sounds like an idea. Though,” Ash pointed to his mug. “You might want to finish drinking that first. They might kill you if you brought it anywhere near the books.”

Michael chuckled as he sat back down. “Then join me while I finish it off.”

Ash grinned and sat down beside him. “Now remember, my arms and chest are getting done. You won’t have any excuse to feel up my back any more.”

“You know what,” Michael couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “Shut up.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Walking into the lower cellars of the Order building was like going from night to day. The upper levels of the stone building were cool and temperate. Down here though, deep within the earth, it was cool enough to need a jacket. She glanced over at Michael, feeling slightly envious. At the moment the only thing Ash had on was her clothes. Her jacket and weapons had been left upstairs in her room.

The stairs segued into a long hallway. There was a single doorway at the end and a grim faced man stood outside of it. Brother Ansem, the one she had talked to earlier. As they approached, the wicked scar bisecting the smooth ebony face still grabbed her attention. She’d warned Michael and now the only sound she heard was his sharp inhalation, nothing else.

“Punctual,” Ansem said as they approached.

“I try to be.” Ash shrugged lightly.

Ansem’s gaze went to Michael as he said, “And him?”

“He’s watching. Is everything ready?”

“Of course.”

And with that, Ansem opened the door for them to step in. This chamber was the same as previous ones. A great big platform was in the middle of the room with brightly-lit lanterns all along one side. Carved out along a long wall was a workspace, with assorted mortars and pestles lined up in an orderly row. Two other people were there, the steady pound and grind of the used mortar and pestles sounding out a comfortable beat. There was a distinct smell as well, the sharp scent of distilled alcohol, smouldering coals, along with various plants. The door creaked as Ansem closed it.

When Ash glanced back, Ansem gestured for Michael to stand by a wall before he turned to Ash. Yep, she knew the drill by now. She yanked off her shirt and snapped it out. Her breast bindings were secure. Not that she bound it down tightly. Just enough to make sure that nothing jiggled around too much. She learned the hard way when she was fourteen and went out with her grandmother one summer. Her chest had been sore for a week from all the jouncing about on horseback.

The cool air of the room made her shiver a bit as she folded her shirt and handed it to Michael. He took it silently from her, his brows furrowed together. She flashed him a momentary smile before she walked over to the platform and hopped up. She heard Ansem murmuring to someone as she pulled her legs up and laid down on her right side.

Rustles of cloth and murmurs came for a few more minutes before the sound of footsteps came towards her. A bowl was placed down, scraping against the surface a bit. Then a hand rested on her shoulder. She turned her head, looking up to see Ansem.

“Ready?” that was the only word he said.

Ash nodded her head and rested it on the platform again. The candles had always been her focus when getting the tattoos done. Ansem’s hand stretched the skin slightly and a few seconds later came the prick of pain and the blade moving against her skin. There was a sharp intake of breath that she knew came from Michael. The blade felt like it was gliding through the upper layers of her skin and once the symbol was drawn, the cool drip of liquid over it came. Ansem’s fingers quickly and deftly rubbed in the ink.

It didn’t take long for that drowsy state to set in. The flickering candle, the stretch of her skin, followed by the blade and then the ink being rubbed into her flesh… it all seemed to wrap her in a cocoon of ritual. Ansem had just reached her wrist when there was a yell, some loud scuffle and then the thud of a body hitting a wall.

She sat up blinking as the cocoon slipped away to be replaced by reality. There was a brother being held, with his arms behind his back. A blade was against his neck, the edge just barely touching the skin and the writing on the metal seemed to burn in the dim candlelight.

Michael’s face was just visible to the side of the man’s head. His expression was furious. Ash swallowed, unsure of what to do exactly. She’d seen Michael mad and knew exactly how to handle that. This was pure, unadulterated rage and she’d never seen it before in him. A glance at Ansem and she knew she had to step in; the man was about five seconds away from trying to kill Michael.

“Michael,” she slid off the platform and placed herself between them. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Get him – ” The man started but Michael pulled his arms back tighter, halting the words.

“What possible use could human blood have in tattoo ink?” Michael’s voice was cold and hard.

Ash’s brow furrowed as she looked at the man. His eyes were wide with fear, his body arched back slightly as Michael kept a firm grip on those arms. The knife blade was just against the skin and maybe Ash was seeing things in the dim light, but it looked like a wisp of smoke was coming from the man’s skin. But Michael didn’t just go off and do something without reason…

“Why would you lace tattoo ink with blood?” Ash asked the man.

“You’re going along with this?” Ansem sounded outraged.

Ash held up a hand as the man looked around. “Well?”

“I don’t know what he’s talking about!” The man started breathing rapidly. “I didn’t do anything! I –”

The knife in Michael’s hand moved in a blur. Ash saw it flip and then next she knew, there was a bright vivid slash across the man’s cheek. Michael brought the blade back down to the man’s throat, but the man’s face caught her complete attention. That cut should have just bled, blood pooling and trickling down. But it was glowing, like the knife had been blazing hot and cauterized even as it sliced open.

And the eyes were almost like Gatuluk’s, an inky black, with the exception of veins of white running through it.

The tension in the room quickly morphed into anger. Ash glanced over at a popping sound to see Ansem cracking the knuckles on a hand. The other two, who had been grinding stuff in the mortars, looked uneasy and unsure of precisely what to do. Ash glanced back to Ansem; the other two had probably just joined and never really fought against the supernatural things that existed.

Ansem broke the silence. “How did you get in? This is consecrated ground.”

“Consecrated against what?” the fear on the man’s face was gone, replaced with a sneer, “Maybe against the wrong thing?”

Michael pressed the knife’s edge against the skin. Smoke, much more visible this time, started curling up from the contact point. “Answer the question.”

“Or you’ll do what? Kill me?”

Even as he said that, Ash remembered what Michael had told her back in Morsima. “Abaddon have anything to do with it?”

“So there is a brain in that pretty little Ascended’s head. My mother will be so pleased to hear that.”

Ash narrowed her eyes. So Abaddon was definitely behind this. And any bet this… demon wanted nothing more than to please.

“Mommy sent you to poison me?” Ash stepped in closer. “Wouldn’t this be the perfect time to make your escape as your plan had been foiled?” The demon was now looking a bit nervous. “You sounded like you had every intention of getting out of here.”

The demon’s gaze flicked around before it settled on her. Then its foot came up, connecting with her thigh. It kicked itself off from there, pushing her to the ground and driving Michael back against the wall hard. As Ash went down, she saw those arms come free and the demon made a break for the door. Ansem moved in, snagging the cloth of the demon’s shirt. That hand closed into a fist and swung. The demon was yanked up short and hurled back into the room. Michael ran forward, jumping over her.

Using its momentum, the demon tucked and rolled, bowling into Michael’s legs. Ash ignored Michael’s tumble, watching the knife go flying from his hand to clatter against the wall. She scrambled up and over to the knife, snatching it up. The demon got to its feet, looking at her for a moment, before it charged at her.

It wasn’t as if Michael and Ansem weren’t trying to intervene, but the demon always managed to position itself in such a way that either she was in the way or the platform blocked it. If only this demon was stupid enough to back itself into a corner.

Its hands came in fast at her and she countered, blocking and landing the occasional blow. As they fought, skirting around one another, all Ash could wonder was _why_ the demon hadn’t fled yet. Everything she had read in the Winchester Gospel indicated that demons would turn tail and run when pressed or threatened.

This one was fighting as if it was for its life.

The momentary thought cost her. The demon seized the hand wielding the knife and wrenched hard. She felt something pop and her grip on the knife released. A smirk came to the demon’s face as it brought a fist to bear on her face. It connected, catching her in the cheek. She took the hit though, her head rocking back. She had tensed her grip though; she had no intention of letting this thing go. The demon looked panicked when its manoeuvre failed. A growl came up from her throat and Ash seized on that moment. She hooked a leg around one of the demon’s and pulled. The demon went down, taking her with it.

The impact sent reverberations up her knees when they connected with the ground, but she ignored it in favour of driving her good fist into the demon’s face a few times. She aimed for the eyes, connecting with the right one and the nose. The demon howled in pain as Ash felt the bone give way beneath her knuckles. She looked up and saw Michael waiting. Her fist went for the face a few more times, drawing the demon’s hand up there. Then she landed a good one on the throat. The throat gave slightly under the temporary pressure she brought to bear and a choked sound came from the demon. Ash leaned back, feeling exhaustion creep over her and pain radiate out from her wrist.

Michael pounced, lunging forward and burying the knife in to the hilt just below the demon’s ribs.

It was as if the demon was extinguished. Something flickered out from inside the man and a wisp of grey coloured light burst out of its mouth. Then the entire body sagged and Ash knew she was sitting astride a corpse. She looked up at Michael and barely managed to stifle a tired laugh. His hair had flopped down into his face and all she could think was that it didn’t look half bad on him and he just needed something to tie his hair back.

“Look,” that was all Michael said before he picked up the former demon’s hands, “right here.”

He held up the index finger and there was a long cut down the pad, still oozing blood. She stared at that finger for a moment before looking up at Michael. He let the hand drop, steadily meeting her gaze. God only knew what would have happened to her if Michael hadn’t interceded. She shivered and her skin prickled. Then Ansem broke the silence once more.

“Acolyte!” he barked.

Ash turned her head to find only one of the other two had stayed. God only knew where the other acolyte had disappeared to. She got to her feet, Michael coming to stand beside her as Ansem talked to the other in low tones.

“All right, we’re going to go take care of the body.” Ansem said. “I’ll finish your other arm tomorrow.”

“Can’t –” Ash stopped herself before she nodded her head in agreement, “Tomorrow then.”

Ansem nodded his head and walked over to the body. In one smooth motion, he picked up the body and hefted it over his shoulder. The acolyte hurried after him, leaving Ash and Michael alone in the room. She walked over to the platform, leaning against it. God, she felt so tired now. It felt like something was broken in her wrist and the cheek that took the punch was throbbing. Michael came to a stop in front of her, taking her injured wrist.

He prodded it gently and Ash hissed as she felt more pain on top of what was already there. All Michael did was glance at her before he continued on. Ash didn’t say a thing, knowing that he wanted to be sure that nothing else was injured. On the upside, it wasn’t the side that had been tattooed. If it had been her right hand that had hurt, she would have been even more pissed off.

“It’s just sprained, nothing’s broken,” Michael said after a few moments. “I’ll get you a soak for it, and something to take care of it.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ash said after a heavy sigh.

Thankfully, they didn’t really encounter anyone on the way back to their rooms and stopped only at the ward for some things. Once they reached their room, she sat down on the bed. Michael started prepping things after he rested her hand in a basin of barely lukewarm water. She stared absently at her submerged hand, listening to Michael mumble under his breath and huff as he went through their packs. It was only when he snapped his fingers in front of her face that she looked away from her hand.

“Hmm?” she blinked and looked at him.

“I asked how bad the pain is. I’ve got some balsam fir resin for the pain and feverfew so there isn’t too much bruising.”

She watched as he drew out some small packets from his pack. “Christ, did you bring a bone saw as well?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Michael said.

Ash sighed and twitched her fingers. She got more pain again. Given she was already not feeling too great from before, “Pretty bad. Twitching my fingers made me feel sick.”

Michael nodded his head and sat down beside her. “How’s your head feeling? It socked you pretty good.”

She watched as he unwrapped the ball of resin and tore off a gooey looking piece. Then the feverfew was unwrapped and worked into the resin until it looked like the stuff was melting just from his body heat. “Uh, okay. Cheek is kind of hurting though.”

“I’ll spread some of this on as well.”

Michael took her hand out of the water and softly patted it dry with his shirt before smoothing most of the resin over her wrist. She gritted her teeth and didn’t say anything as he completely covered her wrist. Then came the splints, short pieces of thin oak, laid against the sides of her wrist and bound in place with cotton strips. By the time he finished up with that, the smell of fir and feverfew seemed to be lodged in her nose.

“Do you realise,” Michael turned his attention to her cheek, feeling along it with his clean fingertips. “That this is the second time a demon has referred to you as, ‘Ascended’?”

Ash furrowed her brow while making a face and immediately regretted it as it pulled her cheek. Michael made an annoyed sound and started smoothing the last bit of resin over the top of the bruise on her cheek. “Wish I knew the hell why.”

Michael’s thumb lingered on her bruise. “It’s not like we’re going to get an answer.”

Ash shrugged. “Something’s going on. First Gatuluk seemed way too interested in me and now some weird demon tries to poison me?”

There was a long silence from Michael before he drew his hand away from her face and stood up. He quickly rubbed off the resin from his fingers with a cloth. “It does beg the question of why are you, and only you, being targeted.”

“I wish to God I had an answer,” Ash reached out, caught Michael’s hand and tugged him in closer. “Because it’s damned annoying is what.”

She leaned forward, resting her head against his stomach. This, everything that happened… she honestly wanted answers. Answers meant that she could take action. She could do something proactive instead of just reacting to things happening to her. Michael didn’t say anything, just smoothed a hand over her head before sitting back down on the bed.

“Hey,” Michael slid his arm around her shoulder. “Tell me some more.”

Ash just huffed and shook her head. Michael’s fallback for distracting her always seemed to be getting more of the final days of the apocalypse out of her. And it worked every damned time.

“Okay, so you remember how Lucifer used Jake to find Michael? And Michael resurrected Ash for the same purpose?”

“Yes.”

“Lucifer didn’t like that much.”

__________________________________________________________________________

 _Sam now knew for sure that Lucifer was just one sick fucker. He’d been hopping about the globe, going to the most densely populated cities, following in Pestilence’s wake. Seeing so many people coughing and snapping at one another filled him with a delight that Sam knew should be illegal._

 _Lucifer told him as much. Sam had been slowly lowering his guard for the past week to some degree. For some reason, Lucifer was taking it as some kind of gradual capitulation on Sam’s part. Sam always made sure some of that mental barrier was up, partially shielding him from Lucifer. He needed something to remain private if he was to pull this off. So far, it’d been working. In fleeting snatches, he gained back the familiar feeling of muscles pulling and stretching, of lungs filling with oxygen. So far, all these memories were kept behind the barrier, safe and protected. So long as Lucifer never saw them, he’d never know that Sam thought his crazy, half-baked plan might stand a snowball’s chance in hell._

 _At the moment Lucifer had decided that a view from the top of Everest suited his mood for the moment. Sam was hard pressed to admit that it’s terrible. It was just a sea of craggy, snow-covered mountaintops as far as Lucifer could see, bent slightly by the Earth’s curvature._

 _ **“Samuel,”** Lucifer’s also taken to using his full name now. **“It would be so much better if you just gave yourself to me completely.”**_

 _Yeah, that’s not happening. There was a fleeting feeling of regret before Lucifer replies._

 _  
**“What makes you think it was all just about your body? It is useful, don’t get me wrong. But there’s so much in your mind that could help.”**   
_

_Sam highly doubted that. After all, he’s just a pustulant, shit-flinging monkey. There couldn’t possibly be anything in his mind to help._

 _  
**“Ah. I bet you have some idea as to why my brother resurrected Miles. You know him as Ash.”**   
_

_Sam didn’t answer for a moment. He didn’t know why. And how could he? As he’s not Michael’s vessel or privy to Heaven’s plans then Lucifer’s barking up the wrong tree._

 _  
**“Cute. I fail to see what my brother needs with an MIT dropout. Something to do with computers, I presume?”**   
_

_Suddenly, Michael’s plan was completely understandable. Sam was grateful for the foresight in maintaining a barrier, since he managed to hide the thought behind it. All he could think now was damned if he knew._

 _  
**“Hmm. Well, he’s a bit late to the party. It’ll all start in a few minutes or so anyhow.”**   
_

_With those words, Sam realised that today was the end of the two weeks. The end would start and Heaven was a bit late as Lucifer claimed. However, Ash had yet to fail. Michael might yet be pulling off a last minute intervention._

 _  
**“You’re awfully quiet, Samuel.”**   
_

_If Sam wanted a moment to himself, he could damned well have one without Lucifer trying to peer over his shoulder. Besides, Lucifer had come here for some reason._

 _ **“I came to admire the view,”** Lucifer paused as Sam couldn’t quite hide his disbelief. **“I truly did. Take this mountain, Everest. It’s also called Sagarmatha and Chomolangma.”**_

 _Unlike Lucifer, Sam didn’t have the ability to know what foreign words instantly mean._

 _ **“Head of the world and goddess mother of the snows respectively,”** Lucifer paused. **“Do you know the biggest problem this mountain has at the moment?”**_

 _Not a single clue, though Lucifer would tell him anyhow._

 _ **“Garbage is this mountain’s affliction. You climb up here, gaze around, praise God for such a wondrous creation and then trash it.”** Disdain came through loud and clear now. **“Hypocritical. And you do this to almost all of His works. Seven million years it took him to bring all this about.”**_

 _Sam was pretty sure he just misheard that number._

 _  
**“No, you heard right. Seven million. Nobody wanted to think of all those zeros when the Bible was being transcribed. What’s so miraculous about all that time? Nothing to humans. But seven million years… the infinite patience needed to make things just so to gain the end effect. It is nothing short of miraculous. So perhaps I’m not too far off the mark for describing humanity as pustulant and shit-flinging. Do you know how much more work it took Him to make you? And this is how you repay him?”**   
_

_Now Lucifer was just sounding like some hippie, eco-activist older brother who was just bitter. That got a grim sense of amusement from the angel. Sam didn’t know what he found so funny about that exactly. Lucifer looked around once more before teleporting somewhere else. The world seemed to bend and warp again and then they’re on a vast expanse of… garbage?_

 _  
**“In the Pacific, and don’t make a joke about me walking on water like Jesus.”**   
_

_When Lucifer looked down, Sam knew it was just for his benefit. Sure enough, peeking out from in between the plastic bottles and bags was water. Lucifer looked back up, garbage stretching across the horizon now. Even Sam couldn’t deny that it’s not the best example of humanity._

 _ **“Do you understand now?”** Lucifer was quiet and insistent. **“Do you see how this planet will die if you continue to exist? How one of my Father’s most wondrous creations will be extinguished as if it were nothing?”**_

 _Funny, was all Sam could think, because Lucifer himself was now extinguishing one of those creations as if he had the right to. Lucifer shrugged and started walking through the garbage._

 _  
**“You can’t make an omelette without cracking a few eggs first. If your extinction is what it takes to save this planet, then so be it. Maybe then my Father will see what I have done and realise that it was the right thing to do. And maybe then he’ll create something more worthy of inheriting this –”**   
_

_The pain that sliced through Lucifer was sharp, sudden and surprisingly debilitating. The water underneath Lucifer’s feet went from a solid to a liquid and suddenly the world was comprised of water and garbage. For a few seconds, Sam was back in his body and drowning in a dirty patch of the Pacific. But then Lucifer’s back in control. The water he inhaled was gone and rage filled him._

 _He could feel his subordinates dying. The bite of angelic metal was keen and Lucifer felt each of the blows, in quick succession, as if they were his own wounds._

 _It was all over as soon as it started._

 _The loss felt like a huge, aching nothingness inside him. And even as he felt that, he knew that Michael did this to draw him out, to bring Lucifer to him. And Lucifer would go, Sam could tell that much. The angel’s pride would demand nothing less for such an affront to him and his. Even in the midst of the angel’s anguish, Sam couldn’t help but feel vindicated. When Azazel killed Jess to bring Sam back to hunting, when he saw those hellhounds tear Dean up and drag him to hell…_

 _Sam was glad that Michael precisely inflicted some emotional pain on Lucifer._

 _Lucifer looked down at his hand. There was nothing there but the cuff of his suit floating gently against Lucifer’s wrist. Then suddenly a sword was there. What Lucifer knew was this: Michael would die by his hand and then he could continue with the cleansing of the planet uninterrupted, for bit at least. Hopefully it would be all the time he needed to wipe out humanity._

 _Lucifer teleported again, the watery expanse replaced with a green park, with the sun hanging low in the afternoon sky. Michael was standing there, blood coating his sword and the bodies of Lucifer’s subordinates at his feet. Cold rage washed through Lucifer now as he looked at his brother, looked at him and hated how Michael stood there as if he had every right in the world to do this. As if he had every right in the universe to cast him out from Heaven and down into what had once been nothingness because of a misguided order from their Father._

 _So many years of anger, hatred and bitterness flooded Lucifer’s mind that Sam hastily retreated behind his mental barrier. The barrier shook and quavered against the onslaught of thousands of years’ worth of all those emotions. Sam didn’t know how but somehow it held steady. Lucifer turned the sword over in his hand, edge facing outwards, before uttering a single sentence._

 _  
**“This ends now Michael.”**   
_

__________________________________________________________________________


	7. Chapter 7

One month and five days was how long they stayed in Maledictio. The only reason why Michael knew the exact number was because after approximately five days, Ash started to get on his nerves a bit. She wasn’t completely laid up by her sprained wrist but didn’t want to chance travelling anywhere. He couldn’t blame her on that; trying to control a horse’s reins one-handed wasn’t a fun task for anyone, much less trying to do anything else really.

Starting a fire, picketing the horses, basic food preparation… she would have been bitchier than those two months when she hadn’t menstruated.

Of course, having to deal with her bitching about a goddamned demon busting her wrist… Michael was leaning dangerously close to preferring the other version of her bitching. It wasn’t the little things such as helping her get dressed in the mornings or ready for bed at night. It was more _how_ she bitched about it. She’d huff and fall into sullen silence. Michael didn’t know what prompted her to stop talking; it was like she expected him to simply divine the answer from her and know what she wanted.

And when he’d told her in no uncertain terms to just tell him what she wanted him to do, she’d stomped off to the library.

The only conclusion that Michael had come to was cabin fever. Ash had gotten far too used to them having their space when they travelled. The two of them sharing a room hadn’t bothered him so much. What he could do without was Ash’s tendency to kick him in the middle of the night if they had to share a bed. She tossed and turned so much Michael was surprised he didn’t wake up black and blue.

So when he’d finally looked at her wrist in late July and hadn’t gotten any physical response of pain from her, he’d cautiously asked how she was feeling. Ash had curled her hand into a fist and simply asked when they were leaving. Five days later and they were on the road. There hadn’t been a single complaint from her and all she did was smile and grin.

A loud pop from the fire distracted Michael and he looked over. He picked up his stick and gave the embers a stir, shifting them about before he added two more dry sticks of wood. Today was their sixth day travelling. They’d made camp when the sun was approaching late afternoon. Michael had set up camp while Ash had disappeared into the low-lying scrub around them. When she returned with the approaching twilight, she had one fat grouse in hand and a grin on her face.

The bird had been plucked, cleaned and spitted. Ash had buried the guts a bit away while Michael had made a small pouch for the feathers out of one of his spare shirts. Feathers were always good to have. The roasted bird combined with some gooseberries and asparagus – Michael didn’t know how Ash managed that, or where she even found them – made for a pretty good meal.

They had stretched out by the fire afterward, taking care of their weapons and talking until the stars came out. Ash had checked the horses and offered to take the first watch when she’d come back. There had been a brief argument that Ash abruptly ended when she balled up her cloak and tossed it at him with a smile and raised eyebrows. So he’d made a makeshift pillow out of his bag of extra clothes, rolled himself up in his cloak and fell asleep watching Ash arrange sticks on the fire every so often.

So when the sound of a dull thump woke him, he blinked and stifled a yawn as he looked about. And froze when he saw what made it. The campfire was smouldering, casting the immediate area in a dull red glow. Ash was passed out, an ugly goose egg on the side of her head evident. There was a shadowy figure, just out of the reach of the low campfire, dragging her in closer. Michael managed to free himself from the cloak but in that amount of time, whatever the thing was had stood up, bundled Ash up in something and tossed her over its shoulder before taking off.

By the time Michael went in pursuit, the assailant was almost out of sight. The moon was waxing and what light there was with the starlight barely gave enough to see. Whoever had taken Ash was damned fast. Michael was running flat out to just try and keep up.

Then a knife tip appeared in the bundle, cutting its way down a bit in jagged starts and stops. Ash’s hand burrowed out and all Michael saw was the flat of her palm. She was being kidnapped and she wanted him to _stop_? For a moment, disbelief flooded his mind but then he saw what she wanted. Wait until daylight and then come and find her.

It was hard to just stop running, panting to catch his breath as he watched the figure disappear through the low scrub and into the trees. He went back to camp and slept fitfully. It was hard when every little noise woke him. The jingle of the horses tack, the occasional pops from the campfire… by the time dawn came, Michael felt more tired than when he tried to get back to sleep.

He quickly broke up the fire and tossed handfuls of dirt on to smother the embers before he loaded the packs onto the horses, saddled them and took them off their line. Zeppelin turned to look at him and Michael knew the horse was looking for Ash. He rubbed Zeppelin’s nose as he attached the reins to the bit.

“We’re going to go get her now.” Michael said before he saddled himself on Impala’s back.

He tugged on Zeppelin’s reins gently until the horse was parallel with him before he started walking both horses. Thank God he knew Ash had trained Zeppelin to pony, to follow behind another horse, otherwise this would have been twice the headache. Heading back in the same direction, he saw vague signs of a trail. There were his steps, sharp points of relief in the dirt and in longer, bounding steps what was unmistakably a human footprint.

As he followed the trail, he found himself with the grudging thought that he was actually glad that Ash signalled him to wait. Tracking the trail was much easier in the bright light of day. Plus there was the added incentive of something not surprising him in the dark.

Worry spread through him as he approached the tree line and spotted a dried splash of blood. He reined Impala in before he got down. Both Impala and Zeppelin seemed antsy and nervous. They might have caught scent of the blood, but who knew what else might have happened here. Michael tried hard not to assume the worst as he quickly tied the horses’ reins to a thick tree branch and went to inspect the spot.

It was a lot of blood that had dried on the undergrowth. There was no circular shape, so that meant the blood hadn’t pooled, but something longer as if it had been dashed out hastily. Michael shifted, craning his head to look at it. This was definitely from the direction he had chased in last night. He stood up, going in the direction of the blood splash towards the forest.

He found another one a bit into the forest.

Ash had probably managed to cut her palm and had let the blood pool before flinging it against the ground.

Michael hurried back to the horses and took their reins. He carefully followed Ash’s blood trail into the forest, pausing periodically to calm and reassure the horses. It didn’t help that the further he went in, the more the forest became silent. After about fifteen minutes of walking in, anxiousness twisted his gut when he saw Ash’s knife, flung into the ground, nearly buried up to the hilt. Given the knife was seven inches long, she’d probably covered up the momentum needed to throw the knife that hard as an escape attempt.

He pulled the knife out of the ground and quickly tucked it away in one of her packs before he kept walking through the trees, following the trail. When he spotted the Old Ways building through the trees, he stopped. It took him a bit to find trees with sturdy branches that wouldn’t give under the horses tugging on them hard.

There was probably going to be fighting and he didn’t need Zeppelin bolting at the first sign of trouble. He drew his sword, stealthily creeping up to the building. It was bigger than most of the ruins he’d seen before and covered in ivy leaves. Being sheltered by all these trees must have protected it a bit. It looked like it had three floors, but only the windows on the bottom floor were blocked off.

It could mean that there were still floors to this structure. Michael didn’t see how, given that the thing was all but falling apart. He moved in closer, seeing that the windows were closed off from the _inside_. Whatever was in there didn’t want any light. He moved to start forward but stopped when a large shadow moved off to his left. Lingering back, he watched as the person crept forward, closer towards the building. Whoever this person was they were a giant. They easily had to top six foot. The last person Michael had ever seen that tall was Old Man Emmet Mosley, back when Michael was about eight years old. He looked dressed for it. Boots that were well worn and didn’t creak, with a short jacket tossed on over a shirt of some kind and plain denim pants. There were two wide leather straps across his chest, various things attached to them. The man moved in closer to the building. Obviously he had some business here as well.

Given the probability of two, maybe three floors, and an unknown number of things inside, then it stood to reason that working together would be the best bet. Michael sheathed his sword quickly and then raised his hands to his lips.

The gobble echoed out among the trees, making the man pause and look over. Michael peered out carefully from behind a tree, just in case he just committed one of the stupidest acts of his life. When no blade came hurtling towards him, he looked out a bit more. The giant was quickly, and quietly, coming over to him. When the man was safely behind a tree, he turned and looked at Michael.

“A turkey?”

The man stood up straight as he murmured and… sweet Jesus the man towered just like one of those old trees found deep in forests. Not to mention the beard on him looked like a thicket. Michael stared up at him for a moment, words failing to reach his brain. How could anyone be that tall? Old Man Mosley had reached the impressive height of six foot. This man was even taller than that. It just wasn’t natural and…

“Christo.” Michael said. That month in Maledictio hadn’t been wasted.

The man chuckled before whispering, “I’m not a demon. My name’s Emul.”

Michael watched the man for a moment. He wasn’t getting the same strange feeling from Emul. Not like with Gatuluk or the man in the tattooing room. “Michael. What are you doing here?”

“I heard rumours of a nest of vampires in the area. I tracked them to here. You?”

“I came to get my friend back.” Michael looked back around the tree to the ruin. “It looks like the windows are blocked off.”

Emul nodded his head and peered around the tree. His hair flopped into his eyes and he tucked it back behind an ear. “There’s a hole on the far side. It’s been blocked off from the inside though.”

Michael looked at Emul, taking in those broad shoulders and said, “You couldn’t get inside.”

Emul shook his head. “I was just thinking about getting in through a window and –”

“No,” Michael paused after his abrupt interjection, drawing raised eyebrows from Emul. “Where’s the hole?”

Emul didn’t say anything, just silently motioned for Michael to follow him. What little sunlight made it down through the trees glinted off the glossy ivy leaves and made Michael blink. The hole was actually the bottom of a stuck door that had been ripped away. The hole wasn’t very big, just large enough for a person to fit through. After looking at it for a moment, Michael turned to face Emul.

“I can crawl in through here. Did you see a window that wasn’t as well boarded up?”

“The one to the right of the door,” Emul pointed. “It opens, but I don’t want to kick it in, make too much noise. Once you’re in the vampires should be asleep. Don’t make any sudden noise and wake them up.”

Michael nodded his head and unbuckled his sword. He leaned it against the wall before he started doing up the buttons on his jacket. When he crouched down, he pushed back some of the stuff obstructing the spot. He’d give the vampires some credit for trying to prevent something from coming in. Rushing and making everything fall was the last thing Michael wanted to do. He worked slowly, pushing, until there was a space big enough for him to fit his shoulders through. He angled his shoulders in, still pushing all the while. The pile of stuff blocking the hole shifted, moving and settling as Michael worked his way in. It probably took him ten minutes to crawl through the pile without making a lot of unnecessary noise.

When he made it through, he slithered down to the bottom of the pile and looked around as he unbuttoned his coat, eyes adjusting to the dim light inside. The building once had three floors, Michael could tell that much from the oddly flat, jagged pieces at regular intervals up along the wall. Half the debris on the ground must have been from when the upper levels fell down. But the smell of the place made him wrinkle his nose. It smelled like unwashed bodies, stale blood and there was that sharp acrid tang of fear. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out more details. There were some bodies on the floor, it looked like fourteen in total, their chests rising and falling with the slow rhythm of sleep. In the middle of the room was a strange construct, almost like a pen. After a quick count, he could see about eleven other people in there… no, twelve now. Someone had been asleep and sat up. They were tied up to the sides of the badly constructed pen, and gagged. Some of them looked like they had healing bite marks, some were scabbed over and others looked like they’d been bitten enough in one spot that the skin looked dark bluish.

But they saw him and started making noise, grunts and whimpers that could only be pleas for help.

When Michael saw who it was that sat up, he felt relief flood through him. It was Ash, looking just as relieved as well. She’d managed to work the gag free from her mouth somehow, and her entire face was smudged with dirt. Never let it be said that Ash wasn’t resourceful. She turned to glare at the others.

“Shut up,” her voice was low and angry. “If you wake them up then he’ll just get caught as well. That what you want?”

The whimpers and grunts stopped but the wide-eyed look of hope still remained on the others’ faces. Michael moved quickly to the window Emul told him about. This one looked like it had been done hastily, with only a few planks across the glass. He worked his way over the piles of debris and inspected the wooden sides of the window. When he rubbed at it with his fingers and the wood started crumbling away just from being rubbed, Michael went to work.

He didn’t rush it. Having fourteen vampires come at you would only end in a bloodbath. He grabbed the plank at both ends and started wiggling it out. The nails were a bit stubborn at first but slowly came out. Emul was waiting and once the last plank was free, the other man grabbed the sides of the window and hauled himself up in one fluid motion.

Emul pulled out a straight blade, long and wicked looking. Michael pulled out his makhaira and they quietly started to move. The first body he came to looked human and Michael felt a moment of doubt. But a low hiss from the other side of the room made him look over. Emul was bringing the machete down and the hiss stopped a moment later. Michael looked back over to see a young man looking up at him in confusion and then anger. Those lips pulled back and impossibly long teeth, sharp and wicked-looking, descended.

He didn’t doubt after that. A quick punch to the face and then his makhaira came down ending it all.

Surprisingly, no one else woke up for the next few minutes. Michael didn’t know what made some of the last few vampires wake up. But when they did there were only six of them left. The people in the pen in the middle of the room looked scared now. Ash had wrapped the ties around her hands, dug her feet into the ground and was yanking hard. Michael had to look away as he had a short female vampire running towards him. She left herself wide open and it didn’t take him long to run her through with the makhaira and then decapitate her.

Everything he had read on vampires said the same: don’t stake them; chop off their heads to make sure they stayed dead.

A loud tearing sound made him look around to see that Ash had ripped away the slim piece of wood she was tied to. Even with her hands tied, three against five changed the odds. It was over in five minutes. Michael dispatched two more vampires. Ash had driven the jagged piece of wood in through the leg of a fallen vampire, pinning it to the ground. With a twist of her arms, she snapped off the top, freeing her hands, before she grabbed the vampire’s head and twisted it sharply. There was a crunch of bones and then the vampire’s struggling body went slack. As soon as her hands were clear, Michael’s makhaira came down in a flash of metal.

“I think,” Michael jerked his makhaira free before he placed it on the ground. He reached up and started undoing the tatters of the ties around her wrists. “That maybe tying you to me with rope would work.”

“Huh?” Ash looked at him as she rotated her wrists and stood up. “Where’s the other one?”

Michael looked back to see Emul bent down over something. He glanced over at Ash and she shrugged. Whatever had Emul’s attention, she didn’t know what it was. They freed the other prisoners, telling them to stay put before heading over.

Emul was crouched down beside a gaunt looking woman. She was lying down against a pile of dirty blankets. Her hair was long and matted, bunched up underneath her head. The woman looked from Emul to them and then back again. Michael glanced at Emul and was surprised to see a look of recognition on that face. He looked back at the woman and was surprised to see her staring at Ash, like she’d seen a ghost.

“I’m sorry,” the woman managed to push herself up a bit. “The others, they never really listened to me since we fled here.”

That made Michael take pause. Just what did she mean by they had ‘fled’ here? Where had they come from then? Had they only recently started feeding on humans? Not that it mattered since Ash started talking.

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Lenore and,” a vague smile came to her face. “I’m a vegetarian.”

Ash snorted at that and both Michael and Emul looked at her. She had yanked down the side of her shirt to expose a ring of teeth marks.

“If you try to tell me the others were –”

“They’re not. They got tired of living off rats and small game. Me,” Lenore lapsed into silence for a bit, as if this was draining what energy she had. “I last ate something three weeks ago. March before that.”

“What did you eat?”

Emul’s voice was gentle and Michael was sure something else was going on here. Just what, he couldn’t say.

“Cow’s blood… I got chased off though. The person got me good, made me lame.” Lenore looked at Ash. “We did drink cows’ blood before. But since the Apocalypse…”

Michael felt a thrill at her words. “Don’t you mean the Cataclysm?”

“No, it was the Apocalypse.” Lenore said. “At first we were okay. But after a few years, what cows were left were tainted for a bit but people kept them. They were kept under close guard. I lost some of my pack, they went back to feeding on humans.”

A glance at Ash proved that she wasn’t very impressed. Emul had a definite look of pity on his face. Did they not realise that a piece of history, well over two hundred years old, was lying there right in front of them?

“And the others?” Michael asked as he crouched down.

“They eventually went along with Grant. I didn’t. They force-fed me,” Lenore shook her head as her face twisted in disgust. “I’m not living like this anymore. I want you to kill me, Emul.”

Emul closed his eyes but he didn’t make any motion to physically touch Lenore. “Are you sure?”

“It’s been a long haul for me. I’m done. I should have packed it in way back in April if Grant hadn’t forcibly kept me alive.”

All Emul did was nod his head and stand up. Ash didn’t say anything else. The blade Emul carried was being spun, gaining more momentum for the final blow. He looked back at Lenore and then looked to Emul.

“Wait a moment. I have a question for her.”

Emul glanced at him but let the blade fall to his side. Michael turned to look at Lenore and felt a small pang of regret at the thought of all the history she knew that would die with her in a dark little spot in the world. He reached forward and took her hand on impulse. She flinched a bit, but held on and gave him a grim smile in return.

“How did you, or Grant, know where Ash and I were? We were almost ten miles from here.”

Lenore looked hesitant but answered. “A demon came here last night. Said its name was Sheol and knew where we could get fresh blood. I told the others to just leave it be and we’d find some deer or something. But a few hours later, Grant came back with her.”

Lenore closed her eyes and Michael tried very hard to not just outright swear. Some demon had come swaggering in here, probably during twilight, eyes streaked with white and making promises of fresh food. The other vampires had wanted it, wanted to add to the small ‘herd of humans’ they had. But nothing involving demons ever came to any good. It would only spell trouble for them, if they went after more. They’d invited enough trouble having these humans here against their will. Someone would come looking for them eventually.

A choked sound came from Lenore and she forcibly shook her hand free from Michael’s. “Kill me now, Emul.”

Michael stood up, watching as Emul didn’t waste time. Only he didn’t decapitate her. No, that long straight blade went right through Lenore’s chest. Emul had angled the blade in, punching right through the fragile ribs and into the heart. He twisted it quickly a few times. Lenore jerked and spasmed, coughing up blood, but when her body went slack with death, there was a smile on her face.

A hand settled on his shoulder and he looked back to see Ash watching him carefully. “You fine?”

He just stared at her, thinking that something was targeting her for some reason. That was the only conclusion he could draw from what Lenore just told him. Not to mention just how ridiculous it was that she was kidnapped and asking how he was doing. He pulled Ash in closer to him and hugged her tightly. Her arms stayed at the sides for a moment. She was confused for all of ten seconds before she hugged him back as well.

“I definitely need to tether you to me somehow.” Michael said as he let her go.

“Yeah, well,” Ash cleared her throat. “I’m sure we’d want to kill one another after a month or so.”

“Okay, so,” Emul came up to them, his blade wiped clean of blood. “We’ve got eleven people to get to the nearest town.”

“Is that where you came from?” Michael didn’t want to look back at Lenore’s body.

Emul shook his head. “Ascension, actually. I’m meeting my brother there. But I know that Antuario is about three days travel from here. With this many people though and the state they’re in, I’d say a week.”

“Thanks,” Ash said as she looked back at the other people who were still standing about inside the pen, looking uncertain. “We’ll figure something out.”

“I’m actually going to help you two,” Emul gave Ash a look that said she was clearly crazy. “Did you think I’d just go and leave the both of you with this?”

Michael didn’t have to look at Ash to know that’s exactly what she had thought. However, Ash was used to having to take care of people while someone else was off doing something else. Emul walked over to the people, towering over them as he started checking them over and seeing who the worst off was. When Michael glanced at Ash, she was just staring at Emul with a thoughtful look on her face.

“Come on. I don’t really want to be here any longer than I have to be.”

“Ugh, ditto. Let’s get ready to go.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

For Ash, Emul was still something of a mystery. His initial estimate of a week became two weeks as the mid-summer rains finally came. The first few days the sky had been filled with dark ominous clouds. Thankfully, she, Michael and Emul took turns scouting out any spot that was large enough for their party to take shelter. Though, every time she rode off to scout ahead, she could feel the tension and worry radiate from Michael. They didn’t find one until halfway through the third day after it started drizzling.

A ruined structure with a partial roof a few meters inside the forest, overgrown with kudzu, became their temporary camp. She and Emul talked with the people who had been held captive while Michael concerned himself with keeping everything running smoothly, not to mention making sure the vine leaves were safe for the horses to eat.

The more Ash watched Emul interact with people, the more she couldn’t figure him out. For starters, there was that freakish height of his. Seeing him creep into the vampire’s lair like that, she figured the man was seven foot and some sort of… creature. That thought vanished when she had stepped outside and gotten a better look. Long floppy brown hair, green eyes and dimples when he smiled… some of the women from the vampire’s lair had turned a speculative eye to Emul more than once.

But what Ash could not figure out about him was that he was too _nice_. Nobody was that altruistic unless they had something to gain.

Michael’s reaction was making her take pause. There was no awkwardness, no glowering or such, like there had been with Gatuluk. Given the number of times she’d dropped ‘Christo’ into the conversation, Emul wasn’t a demon. Michael just seemed at ease with him, having long conversations that would have made anyone die from the sheer boredom. How any two people could use that many big words in a single conversation was beyond her.

Today had been spent hunting again. Fourteen mouths to feed with their meagre supplies meant something else had to be found and food had been foraged for. She and Michael had gone out in the morning and found saplings. After a few hours, with a fire and some braided plant fibre, they had bows and went out into the drizzle to track down some game. Somehow, amid the close press of trees deeper into the forest, they’d spotted a deer. They had set themselves up carefully, Ash downwind while Michael moved off to the side.

She had watched as Michael had drawn back on the bow, taking aim. The crack of thunder had startled the deer and it bolted right towards Ash. She didn’t think, just drew her bow, lead the deer a bit and released. The arrow hit, bringing it down. They worked quickly, gutting the deer before putting it on a pole to bring back. When they finally got back a few hours later, Emul had a bigger fire going and the other people were huddled around it.

That had been a few hours ago. The deer had been skinned, then roasted and eaten – along with some soggy greens that Emul found growing nearby – and pretty much everyone was dozing by the warm fire. The sky was still overcast and Ash couldn’t tell at just what point in the day it was. Michael had helped her prepare the huge deerskin, making a stretcher and spreading on the brain mash. Now, she had the skin pot out beside her, full of rain water, and she was separating out the sinew into strands. Michael was stretched out beside her, hat over his face as his chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of sleep. Zeppelin and Impala were contentedly munching away on kudzu leaves.

Emul was the only other person up. He was simply watching the fire. Every so often he would move, but it would just be to tuck a strand of long hair back behind his ear or to scratch idly at his beard. She turned her attention back to the sinew. These vampire teeth had been floating around in her pocket ever since January. They hadn’t even entered her mind again until today.

The wet sinew was slippery in her fingers and she frowned as she separated it into strands. She took a long one and started wrapping it around the base of the tooth when Emul spoke quietly.

“What are you making?”

“Something for Rambo.” she tilted her head in Michael’s direction.

Emul sounded puzzled when he said, “Rambo?”

“Yeah, you know… Rambo. You never heard the story of Rambo?” Ash looked up to see Emul shake his head. She shrugged and looked back at her task. “I like it. It’s pretty good.”

“Do you know it?” Emul asked.

Ash nodded her head. “I do. But I won’t. I’m crap at stories.”

“Oh.”

Ash just nodded her head and concentrated on her work, finishing up with the teeth. Michael was the one exception to that. It didn’t matter how badly she told it with him. He usually got the point she was trying to get across. And ever since Sarah died, she hadn’t told a story to her siblings. That had always been something she and Sarah did. Not having her younger sister to join in… it felt like there had been an empty spot beside her filled by a ghost.

“Here.”

Emul’s word surprised her. She looked up to find him holding out a spool of wire and a long length of leather cord. It gleamed in the firelight and she took it slowly. The wire wasn’t fine stuff, but it was thin enough to easily wrap around the teeth. The leather was brown and looked like it had just been cured.

“Use whatever you need.” Emul said.

Ash looked at him and then back at the wire. “You’re a blacksmith?”

“No. Don’t worry about it though.” Emul watched her for a moment and then said, “Vampire teeth?”

“Yeah,” Ash glanced at Emul. God, but he was being chatty. “Figure I might as well do something with them.”

Silence fell again as Ash studied the wrapped sinew, seeing the dry spots. After a moment she frowned and started unwrapping a bit of wire. Sinew was good, but if it got wet those teeth would slip right out. After drawing her kabar knife, she used the base of the blade to cut the wire before she dipped a tooth back into the rain water to soften up the sinew again. When she was steadily wrapping the wire around the tooth, embedding it into the sinew, Emul spoke again.

“I didn’t mean to upset you earlier.”

Ash inhaled sharply and looked at Emul. “Okay, seriously, no guy is _that_ considerate. What’s up with you? You on the rag?”

There was a surprised look on Emul’s face for all of ten seconds before he started laughing. Ash was really failing to see the humour in this situation. After a bit, Emul shook his head.

“You really remind me of my brother.”

“Yeah, well, that’s real fuckin’ nice.” Ash grumbled.

That made Emul laugh even harder. Michael started in his sleep and Ash scowled, motioning for Emul to quiet down. He did, snickers escaping every so often. She went back to wrapping wire around the tooth and hoped to God that Emul didn’t notice that she just swore. Having all those younger siblings, swearing was frowned on. But Emul just seemed to be pushing her buttons tonight for some reason. She quickly finished with the one tooth, leaving a loop at the top before she went to work on the other teeth. When she finished she threaded the teeth onto the leather string before knotting the two loose ends tightly and holding it up.

Firelight glinted dully off the sides of the teeth. She turned it around, inspecting it. The teeth clacked against one another and Ash placed them on her palm before she wrapped the cord around the teeth. It was wrapped back up into its scrap of cloth and tucked into her pocket once more. She’d give it to Michael when it was just the two of them and… and what the hell was up with Emul now?

He was looking around with his brow furrowed and a concentrated look on his face. She looked around, half expecting something to come out at them. Then she realised what was bothering him.

The sound of rain had stopped.

The steady drumming of rain hitting the ground had been constant for almost the past week. Now the silence seemed almost strange. Rising to her feet, she walked out past the shelter of the ruined roof and peered through the tree trunks. The clouds had broken up and there were random spots of sunlight dappling the ground. Emul came and stood beside her for a moment, breathing deeply before he looked at her.

“Want to see something interesting?” Emul asked.

Ash glanced back at the camp’s sleeping occupants. “Why?”

“I think you’d like it. We’re just going to the tree line.”

“Fine.”

Ash let Emul go first. The tree line wasn’t very far and the camp was still within eyesight. Standing at the tree line, looking out at the drenched world and smelling water and the promise of things to grow… She took a deep breath and a smile came to her face. Emul leaned down now, pointing off into the distance to the left.

“See the mountain?”

There was a grey washed-out triangle off in the distance, but she could see it. When she nodded her head, Emul turned to the right, asking her the same thing. This one, much farther away, was a bit harder to see. She frowned, looking between the two mountains.

“Are they…?” she trailed off. Surely they couldn’t be.

“They are. They were once connected. This mountain pass is Michael’s Wrath. Well, that’s what people around here say.”

Ash didn’t reply as she looked about. The sheer power that must be needed to _level_ mountains and reduce them to rubble… she didn’t even know where to start with that. She stepped out, a bit past the tree line, the wet grass soaking her pants. Her boots squelched into the softened earth but she didn’t care. She stopped after a few steps, just looking at the broken wedge of a mountain range and still found it hard to wrap her mind around.

She looked back to see Emul standing there with crossed arms and studying her. “Why did you _really_ want me to see this?”

The question was out her mouth before she even really thought about it. Emul shrugged before he walked forward to come and stand beside her. The sunlight caught him and for a moment, for a split second, Emul looked like a being of pure light striding across the land. As if he was something trapped inside a puny vessel of flesh, blood and bone. The air behind him seemed to shimmer in a shape, like something was folded back upon itself. She blinked rapidly and it disappeared. It was hard to not feel entirely confused when Emul came to a stop beside her.

“Because I wanted you to see what happens when something more than yourself is at stake. You Hunt because you feel it in here,” Emul was staring out at the land, a distant look on his face, as he rested his huge hand over his heart. “But you also did it to escape.”

Ash didn’t react when Emul glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

“And Michael… I saw how you two operated back in the vampire’s lair. You didn’t even flinch as he moved in to behead the vampire you killed.”

“Yeah, so?”

Emul gave a soft laugh. “You’re the reason why he’s here. Don’t treat that so lightly. Stick together. Keep each other human. Don’t ever forget your reasons for doing this.”

She didn’t say anything as Emul turned away, heading back to the camp. When she was sure there was no chance of him pausing, she turned and looked. For some crazy reason, she was half expecting Emul to just up and disappear. But his form was solid as it wove through the trees back to the campsite. With a ‘tch’, she looked back at the mountain in the distance.

A few minutes later, when a hand came down on her shoulder, she huffed a bit at the familiar feel of the callused hand.

“Done with the nap, Sleeping Beauty?” Ash turned around to look at Michael.

“Yeah,” Michael still sounded like he had a frog in his throat. Not to mention that wide-eyed look he had after he just woke up. “I didn’t see you when I woke up. Emul said you needed a moment to yourself.”

Ash glanced back at the camp for a moment. “Yeah. He and I were just talking. He told me this pass is called Michael’s Wrath.”

“Michael’s Wrath?” Michael echoed. His brain was quickly firing up. “You mean –”

Ash nodded her head. “Yeah.”

“Wow.”

That was the only word Michael said as he looked at the wide expanse that had once been mountain. After a few minutes, Ash reached into her pocket and dug out the necklace. God only knew when the two of them would have a moment like this again.

“Hey, Rambo,” Ash held out the scrap of cloth. “This is for you.”

Michael looked at the cloth in her hand before he took it. “I’m really starting to hate that nickname, you know.”

“It does kind of fit,” Ash shrugged. “Toss you into danger and you take out anything in your way.”

Michael pulled a face as he unfolded the cloth. When he finally got to the necklace, he was silent for a few seconds before he murmured, “Oh.”

“I just tossed it together,” Ash shrugged, realising she still had the skin pot set up. “I’ve got more sinew if you wanted to keep that bow. I can make you a bowstring.”

“Okay,” Michael held up the necklace before he slipped it on. “It’s very barbaric. Do you think this is what Conan the Barbarian looked like?”

Ash laughed at that. There was a story she hadn’t heard in awhile. But there was a vast difference between a warrior from a story who was tall and muscled and… well, and Michael. She just looked at him before she turned around and started walking back to camp, shaking her head.

Michael fell in step behind her with a puzzled, “What?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
The days felt like a blur to Michael. Once the rains broke, they packed up and headed out. Antuario wasn’t too far, only three days away. However, all that mud was tough to get through in some parts. They had arrived in town looking bedraggled. And once it became apparent that the people from the vampire’s lair were from this town, they had grateful relatives on their hands. In the midst of all the confusion, Emul had managed to get a horse and before the sun even hit noon they were riding out from the town. The first night they made camp, Emul insisted on showing them more fighting techniques. Michael, he admittedly wasn’t so great at it. It had taken him a lot of practice.

Ash took to it like a duck to water. She was a born fighter through and through. By the third day she was picking it up and managing to get in under Emul’s guard. By the end of the first week, Emul had him and Ash spar.

Michael was sure that he was still black and blue somewhere. Ash had continually trounced him until he improved. Her reasoning had been deceptively simple and effective: if he wanted the beating to stop, he’d better get good.

There was no denying that Emul pushed them hard. But after he collapsed into sleep before his watch, he found his dreams clouded by strange things whirling behind his eyes. When he woke up in the morning, he had a vague sense of disquiet. It left him feeling off-balance and irritable. Ash and Emul looked well rested and it only made him crankier.

Channelling his annoyance into his fighting did help a bit and as the days passed, the bruises slowly faded away. And so now, after three weeks of riding, sparring and more riding, Michael was much sorer and saddle weary than he ever thought he would be in his life. Ash had taken her lumps as well as she dished them out to Emul and Michael. Last night, she had pretty much thrown herself at Emul. The fighting had been fast-paced and frantic. Michael felt like he was watching something inhuman taking place. Emul hadn’t pulled anything, but Ash worked her way past his guard multiple times. She had been going after Emul like he was going down, permanently. But now, she was sitting up straight in the saddle as if nothing was sore and aching. Emul looked like he could do this for the next three weeks and not display any sort of tiredness in the slightest.

The both of them, Michael thought, were bastards. He shifted in the saddle, wishing they could find the Order building. The town was small, but there was no visible, or obvious, building anywhere in the village. Ash paused and finally dismounted.

“Okay, just wait here. I’m going to go ask. This is just beyond ridiculous.” Ash grumbled.

Michael took the chance and dismounted as well. Ash waited until he was down before she shoved the reins into his hands.

“Hey,” Michael started.

“Just keep an eye on Zeppelin and Impala. I’m going to find out where the Order building is.”

Before Michael could even think of replying she turned and walked away quickly. He stared after her in disbelief before he huffed. The sooner he got to sink into a bed and not walk or sit for the next two, possibly three, days – he could die a happy man.

“Zeppelin and Impala?” Emul dismounted now as well. “Interesting names for horses.”

Michael shrugged. “In my family, the oldest kid has always called the horse Impala. I know my dad said his great grandfather called his horse Impala. Then he called his first horse Impala. So that’s what I named my horse.”

“And Zeppelin?”

“Same story with her family. I think Zeppelin was the name her mom gave her first horse.” Michael shrugged, glancing in the direction Ash was walking in.

“I see. Well, I need to meet up with my brother so I’m going to be taking off now.”

“What, not putting us through our paces tonight?”

“No. All done; Ash can teach you the finer points now.”

“That’s not even remotely funny.” Michael’s voice was flat.

Emul gave a wry grin at that. “I wasn’t trying to be.”

“Hmm.” That was the only safe response that Michael had.

Emul moved now, releasing the reins and digging for something in his side pack. When he found it, what came out was a rectangle of thick paper folded up many times. The corners looked a little worn but otherwise it was in pristine condition. Emul offered it to him and Michael took it, turning it over and looking at it in puzzlement.

“Okay… I’ll bite. What is it?”

“It’s a map. You never know when you might need one. I had a spare floating about.”

Michael stared at it before he shook his head and held it back out. “Nobody just gives away that much good quality paper like that. I don’t want it.”

“Take it,” Emul pressed it back against his chest. “Family, no matter the blood or relation, help each other out and stick together.”

Alright, that comment seemed to come right out of nowhere. Emul just smiled at him and turned, leading the horse away. He looked down at the paper in his hand and looked back up.

Emul was still walking away, heading for what looked like the local inn. A brown haired man stepped out, and Emul raised a hand in greeting. The brown haired man looked at him and jogged over. There was shoulder clapping and the brown-haired man flipped at Emul’s beard. Emul batted his hand away with an annoyed expression and Michael turned away, stuffing the map into his pocket. That must have been Emul’s brother. He tugged gently on Impala and Zeppelin’s reins, going in the direction Ash took. He only looked back once, seeing the brother standing in front of Emul and talking intently. There was something disquietingly familiar about the way the man looked, but Michael couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Damn it, where is she?” Michael groused as he looked back ahead.

As he walked up the street, he noticed a little girl sitting on the front porch of a house, playing with her knitted doll. The girl looked over and gave him a smile with a few teeth missing, before turning her attention back to the doll. Ash’s voice drifted down on the wind now.

“…Up around the bend?”

“Yes. I think it’s somewhere in that area. I’m not too sure. Most don’t go because it’s almost half a day to just get up there. No one wants to come back at night.”

Michael paused in front of the porch now, seeing a woman standing there. The woman’s arms were crossed and there was an air about her that said she didn’t take bullshit. Ash glanced at him before she looked back to the woman.

“Anything else? Nothing to surprise us along the way?”

“No. And can I help you with something, young man?” the woman snapped as she turned to face Michael.

“It’s okay, Ellen. He’s with me. We should probably get going. We’ve had a long trip here.”

“Michael Dean Winchester, ma’am,” When all else failed, politeness sometimes appeased irate mothers.

Ellen watched him for a moment before she offered a hand. “Wesson, that’s my last name. And that little girl there, who doesn’t know her manners _either_ , is Harvelle. She’s seven.”

Harvelle scrambled up, doll dangling from one hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Michael replied.

He glanced at Ash. She wasn’t bothering to hide the smirk on her face. But she did decide to end it. “All right, we need to head up there. It’s just after noon now, so if we’re lucky, we’ll get there before nightfall.”

Ash started down the steps as Harvelle ran in closer to Ellen, tugging on her hand.

“Momma, they disappeared again.”

“Who disappeared, baby?” Ellen smoothed a hand over Harvelle’s hair as she bent down.

“The men and the horse in front of Mr. Vania’s place.”

Michael peered around Zeppelin to see an empty street. There was no Emul, no horse, no brother, nothing. Ellen glanced down as well and rolled her eyes, as if to say, ‘Kids.’ Harvelle clutched her doll closer, looking warily down the street. Ash mounted up first before she twisted her upper body to look. When she looked back, she shrugged and held her hand out. Michael handed the reins to Ash.

“So remember, head up to the ford and follow the river. You should find the Order building.” Ellen said.

Ash nodded her head. “Thank you.”

“Come on, baby, we’re going back inside. We need to have a talk about your stories.” Ellen said.

Michael watched as Ellen walked back inside. Harvelle looked angry and upset. Michael crouched down, looking at her.

“I believe you.” He simply stated.

Harvelle’s face broke into a grin and she flung herself against him, small arms wrapping around his neck in a hug. Surprised, Michael patted her on the back. This hadn’t been the first time this issue had come up. It wasn’t her overactive imagination and…

“Thank you.” Harvelle whispered before she hurried inside and closed the door.

Michael simply remained there for a moment before he got up and mounted Impala. Ash looked at him as they started the horses into a walk. It wasn’t until they’d left the town and were on the main trail to the ford that Ash spoke.

“Well, this just proves that you’re good with kids.”

All Michael did was shrug. “Do you know it’s been almost a month since you’ve told me anything else?”

“Hmm? About?” Ash looked confused.

“About the final battle between Lucifer and Michael; when you last left off, Lucifer came to Michael.”

“Oh! Oh,” Ash fell silent for a moment. “Well, what do you think happened? It was a final battle.”

__________________________________________________________________________

 _Michael felt Lucifer from halfway across the planet, a luminous rage that didn’t care anymore of the politics of Heaven’s will and of what happened to the planet and the humans that inhabited it. When Lucifer appeared before him there was a clear intent on his face. Only one of them was walking away from this battle._

 _For a moment, Michael was glad that he had had the foresight to send the people here in this park away. If they were here, Lucifer wouldn’t have thought twice about slaughtering them._

 _It’s a simple sentence that’s the catalyst. The words of, ‘This ends now Michael’ were accompanied by the edge of the sword in Lucifer’s hand being turned outwards in a clear indication of a readiness to fight._

 _For a moment, time distorted and Michael’s heart felt heavy with grief at what he must do. Lucifer was coming towards him, sword coming in for a low parry._

 _Their swords met with a loud clash of angelic metal. The air vibrated and thrummed with it, travelling out in a shockwave._

 _The first herald to their final battle was a pile of demonic corpses and all the animals in the vicinity fleeing for their lives._

 _Slowly but surely Michael and Lucifer chipped away at each other, the surrounding landscape taking the toll of it all. Glass shattered, buildings were decimated and razed while the land was gashed with what could only be called ravines. People were fleeing from Kansas City and their palpable fear permeated everything like an oil slick. It clung and couldn’t quite be washed off. The fear of his Father’s last creations oozes into his and Lucifer’s brain, adding a new dimension to the battle._

 _The nicks and cuts from the swords weren’t healed as soon as they’re inflicted. Blood seeped from the wounds and smudged against the skin in a bright red smear of life. The angelic blades were doing their job._

 _Lucifer’s white suit went from immaculate to filthy much more quickly this time and Michael was convinced the armour he elected to don was helping. More than once it’d diverted a chopping blow to his shoulder. Lucifer’s hubris on the other hand showed. The white suit was shredded in some parts, especially around the torso._

 _It was so very tempting to Michael to blink himself back to when the battle started, to catch Lucifer from behind and end it quickly. But causality wasn’t something to mess with lightly._

 _The fight went through the evening and night, into the coming dawn. Dean was amazed that Michael, bleeding and wounded, was not in the slightest bit tired. And judging from the look on Lucifer’s face neither was he._

 _While they fought, the world was consumed in paroxysms of blood, death, violence and the ever present hope and prayer._

 _It took almost four days before Michael started approaching the end of what had seemed a limitless strength. By then, Dean was sure that Michael must have been making more blood for the body to work with. How else could he have gone almost four days without the body giving out on him?_

 _Lucifer was also reaching his limit. More and more, Lucifer’s attacks were taking on a tone of desperation. But the weariness seeped out from Michael’s very being and felt like it’s permeating every cell of what was once Dean’s body._

 _There was a bright flash from the corner of his eye and then a blade bit into the side of his belly, punching through the armour and then skin and guts. A cruel smirk came to Lucifer’s face and he jerked the sword to the side, tearing open a hole in the body. Pain radiated out and Dean was certain that it was still not as bad as it could feel. Lucifer looked triumphant as he planted a bloodied foot against his chest and kicked. Michael didn’t fight back, just hit the ground and all Dean could think was, no, no, no, it had better not fucking end like this. But then he realised that Michael could possess him completely, obliterate his soul and finish the job. It’s something Michael was hesitant to do but Dean wasn’t seeing another choice._

 _Lucifer stood over them and his brother’s bloodied, dirtied face glowed with triumph. The sword blade was red with blood, Michael was sure it’s both of theirs, and this could not be the end of it all. Dean didn’t want this to happen, for Lucifer to win. It all seemed to happen in slow motion to Dean. Lucifer turned the pommel over, sword tip now waiting to plunge into Michael and end his life. The Grace surged through the body Dean once called his, mending what little it could to continue fighting. Dean didn’t care that it meant the end of his soul, just so long as Lucifer was killed._

 _And then Lucifer froze. He stopped in mid motion, as if paralyzed. And when Michael looked up there’s Lucifer and also Sam Winchester, holding onto Lucifer for all he’s worth, struggling to not let him go._

 _Michael didn’t waste a moment. He forced the broken body to move, to rise to its feet quickly, the sword ramming forward and up. The second before it entered Sam let go, and was absorbed back into Lucifer. Michael saw it all on Lucifer’s face. There was disbelief and then the pain that came when the sword was rammed through him and jerked upwards, cutting through things until it hit the top of the ribcage. Even as the sword went, Lucifer tried to hang on, healing what precious little he could._

 _It was over when Michael wrapped a hand in Lucifer’s torn blazer and jerked. Lucifer’s sword went flying from his hands and then he crashed to the ground, writhing on Michael's sword and trying to crawl away. Michael dragged himself on top, sitting astride. He propped himself up with the sword, and laid a hand against Lucifer’s brow. He could see Lucifer’s form, all eloquent pain and agony. Michael filled him with pure angelic fire, burning his weakened spirit from the inside out._

 _The burst of light that came from the body was the death throe of an archangel. Michael could see Lucifer clearly now, could see the impaled form writhing as it charred to insubstantial ash and then nothing. When the light faded, it was Sam Winchester who was on the ground and impaled on the angelic sword._

__________________________________________________________________________


	8. Chapter 8

Something just didn’t feel right. It was as if everything was moving towards some purpose that she knew nothing about. She was starting to feel a bit like a pawn that couldn’t see the pieces on the chess board. Michael, well, who knew how he was feeling because something was stuck in his damned craw for the longest while. Not that he was talking, yet again.

They’d just gotten to the Order building and saw their horses stabled before being shown to their rooms. Twilight had come and gone and they got separate rooms beside one another this time. The only problem was that Ash could virtually see Michael sitting on the edge of the bed, turning that worn Rubik’s cube over in his hands and just thinking. She was lying on her bed trying to ignore it, but it was like a broken fence. It was there annoying her, demanding to be fixed.

After a moment, she got up from the bed, jammed her feet back into her boots and walked over. She didn’t bother knocking on the door, just went right in. Sure enough Michael was doing just what she thought he would be. There was a folded piece of paper on the bed beside him. It looked like it had been tossed there. He glanced up at her, silently nodding his head in acknowledgement. Oh no, she wasn’t putting up with it. No more of this… of this _shit_ from him.

“Spit it the hell out.” Ash slammed the door shut and crossed her arms.

Michael opened his mouth, wanting to say something, before he seemingly thought better of it and then just shrugged his shoulders. Never in her life had Ash had a greater urge to walk over to the bed and shake him. She took a deep breath and rubbed a hand over her face.

“Look, whatever it is, I can’t help you with it until you tell me. I don’t want a repeat of before, got it?”

All Michael did in response was to shrug his shoulders and mumble something. That intent look was on his face. The one that said he’s pretty much deep in thought. Ash scowled, walked over and kicked him sharply in the shin.

“Ow!” Michael howled.

“Welcome back.” Ash leaned forward. “We gonna talk about this thing or what?”

“I don’t think –” Michael began tactfully.

“Oh, I think it is. I’ve had enough of your weird moods. You’re worse than me when I’m _not_ on my rag,” Ash paused for a moment. “It’s been like this since Shiloh, you know,”

He might be glaring at her right now, but Ash saw the glimmer of surprise through the anger. And it was true. He had been. Maybe he hadn’t noticed, but he’d sidestepped the seal of Azazel and then ever since Gatuluk, it seemed like Michael expected something to jump out at them from every dark corner.

“You get a bit hostile around people especially, and –”

“I seem to be finding good reason,” Michael snapped. He tossed the Rubik’s cube on the bed and stood up. “Let’s take a look at the current track record, shall we?”

“I know it,” Ash bit out. “It’s not the best, I’d admit –”

Michael raised his eyebrows. “That’s an interesting way of phrasing it. A werewolf, a _demon_ , then who knows what Emul actually was and –”

“Well, guess what? Acting like a fucking dick isn’t going to make a bad situation any better,” Ash started jabbing her finger against his shoulder. “And you’ve still told me pretty much jack about what’s bothering you.”

“How about everything, all right,” Michael ground out from between his teeth. “First foray into this… stuff and I decapitate and burn a werewolf. Somebody I had a few drinks with earlier on. Then a demon comes running out of the forest, faking the need for a rescue. Then at Dean’s gravesite and now Emul just up and disappearing.”

The silence that fell in the room was heavy and thick as they both chose their next words carefully. Ash could see where he was coming from on this. Looking back on it all, it seemed too perfectly timed, too well organised.

“Nothing happens unless there is a reason,” Michael said tightly a few minutes later. “And not knowing the reason is honestly making me uneasy.”

“Finally, something we agree on. You know what would have been great? If you had told me this instead of me having to twist your arm.”

“You are honestly the last person to talk. You’d repress your own damned thoughts if you felt it was for the greater good.”

Ash scowled, “Fuck you, Winchester. Always on your damned high horse there. Why don’t you go back home if it makes you so damned uneasy? Better yet, just why the hell did you follow me that night way back in spring?”

“Did you honestly think I’d let you go running around just to get your neck broken somewhere? Forget it.” Michael looked distinctly uncomfortable now. “But there is good in doing this. Saving people, hunting things, but if you think for one moment that it’s all about you, then I’m sorry to say that you’re sorely mistaken, _Joanna_.”

“I… you…” Ash was so pissed now that the words were choking in her throat. “Why the _fuck_ would it be all about me, you pretentious asshole?”

“Listen to yourself! Swearing like some common gutter trollop. You never used to swear before.”

“Oh yeah? I also don’t have four other siblings watching me now,” Ash took a deep breath before she bellowed out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Michael opened his mouth to say something but something made him stomp over to the door. Ash followed after him, fully intent on stopping him. But Michael opened the door and snarled, ‘What?’ The person on the other side had been about to knock and seemed absolutely terrified to say whatever it was.

“Out with it.” Ash snapped, crossing her arms. The sooner this acolyte was gone, the sooner she and Michael could deal with this.

“The, um, the Abbess, she wanted to… to, um… speak to you both now. I-if you have the time.”

“Fine by me,” Michael growled as he stomped out of the room. “Lead the way.”

The acolyte looked relieved and took off down the hallway. Michael walked after her and Ash, after closing the room door, was forced to run to catch up with them. The acolyte’s steps were hurried and led them up a flight of stone stairs. When the acolyte came to a stop it was in front of a heavy set of wooden doors. The doors were opened and they were shoved inside peremptorily before the doors were closed hastily.

The room was a large study. There was a desk at the front that swallowed up most of the large space, along with two sitting chairs. The walls were shelves, lined with books and sheaves of paper. A woman was sitting at the desk, her brown hair heavily streaked with white. She didn’t look up but gestured for the both of them to take a seat. Ash didn’t even bother to look at Michael as she walked past him and tossed herself down in the seat, arms on the rests and legs stretched out. Michael took his seat, sitting up properly and pointedly ignoring her. The woman finished whatever she was doing since she looked up and folded her arms.

“Are you two idiots going to make this easy or hard?”

Ash looked over at Michael and shrugged before she looked around and started making noises. If Michael was all gung-ho for communicating now was his big chance to shine.

“And you are?” Michael asked.

“Roberta Igaere. And you two?”

“I’m Michael Dean Winchester.” And since he just couldn’t resist it apparently, “She’s Joanna Ashtoreth Kozel.”

Ash didn’t say anything and just watched Roberta. There was silence for a moment before Roberta got up from her desk. Leaning against the front of it, she rested her palms on the top and looked at them hard. Ash was about to ask what she wanted when she spoke.

“As I understand it, you two are on pilgrimage?”

“Yes,” That was all Ash said.

“I usually don’t presume to ask, but did anything else happen along the way?”

“Anything else?” Michael’s tone was sharp.

“Brother Ansem sent a messenger to me, asking for more information on something called Abaddon. He also informed me of the incident with you two. So I find myself very curious as to why a demon is interested in two regular, run of the mill people on pilgrimage.”

There wasn’t a single thing that Ash could see wrong with that. Hell, if it was her in Roberta’s shoes, she’d probably be doing the same thing. She looked at Michael and gestured for him to start before she looked around. There was a pronounced silence from Michael for a moment before he started talking. Ash didn’t bother to listen and picked at the cuff of her jacket. It felt like Michael was talking way too much but Roberta was listening intently. When Michael finally finished, Roberta was silent and her expression looked grave.

“All right, I’ll do some more digging, see what I can find. I’ll let you know as soon as I find out.” she glanced between them. “You can go back to arguing if you like.”

If there was ever a clear dismissal, that was it. Ash got up from her seat and left, not bothering to wait for Michael. She made a straight beeline for her room. Once she sat down on the bed, she shrugged out of her jacket and toed her boots off. A moment was all Ash really wanted, just one moment.

Michael didn’t make a big entrance when he entered her room. He just opened the door, slipped in and closed it silently behind him.

“Get out.” The words automatically came to Ash’s mouth. “I’m damned tired and I don’t want to continue this tonight.”

“You want to know what else is bothering me?” he tossed a piece of folded paper at her. “Look at it.”

She caught it, and turned it over in her hand. The paper was folded in a rectangle and was heavier than she thought it would be. There was a title on the front saying, “The Winchester Pilgrimage” and underneath someone had scrawled, “Midwest.” She unfolded it and frowned when she saw the map. Nothing made sense on it.

There was the town of Lawrence but the map didn’t show the wide canyon that was just over a day’s travel from Lawrence. And half of the town names weren’t something she recognised. There was only Cold Oak and…

“Where’s the Gospel of Chuck?” Ash looked at Michael as an idea occurred to her.

“I checked already,” Michael walked over. His finger pointed to a city called Sioux Falls. “This was Shiloh, our first stop. And here,” his finger moved to a place called Pontiac, “Lazarus, the site of Dean Winchester’s resurrection. And what was Ilchester,” he said the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Is now called Maledictio. New Harmony,” his finger moved once more, “Is now Morsima, the site where Dean Winchester died. And where we are now, it used to be called Kansas City.”

Ash swallowed hard. She’d seen a map a few times at the general store in Lawrence. It looked nothing like this. The river courses were different and then there was the general lack of a nearby canyon on this map. It honestly raised her hackles seeing a map listed with what could only be Old Way city names. Now she felt like an ass for picking that fight with Michael.

She looked up at him, “You’ve gotta tell me these things.”

Michael sat down on the bed beside her. “I figured this might have been too crazy to tell you. Emul just gave me the map today.”

“This is crazy? No, crazy was me telling my parents that I hurt a vampire and killed a chupacabra,” Ash shook her head. “This... honestly, this is all pretty fucked up.”

Michael nodded his head. He ran a hand through his hair, fingers getting tangled a bit in the long strands. “I’m not a pawn for whatever game is going on.”

Ash snorted as he echoed her earlier sentiment. “You and me both. And nothing is ever too crazy to tell me. Hell, look at what I did back in the winter and where we are now.”

“Good point.” Michael leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Earlier –”

“Eh,” Ash waved away his attempted apology. She didn’t need the awkwardness that would entail. “We’re still good. We’ll drive each other nuts some times, but we’re good. I’m looking forward to spending some alone time tomorrow, don’t know about you.”

“I am,” Michael rubbed the back of his neck. “I figure I’ll go to the library and the chapel. You?”

“Getting the last of my tattoos done,” she paused for a second. “I was going to ask if you wanted to come and watch again –”

“I will. Just let me know when.”

That was all Michael said. Ash grinned from relief. She had been wondering if the person tattooing her would have taken offense if she insisted on seeing the ink being prepared.

“Okay. Now I’m looking forward to having a good night’s rest. I don’t have to share a bed with you and your clingy arms.”

Michael’s face turned red. “I said I was sorry.”

Ash elbowed him gently in the ribs with a grin. Michael just grumbled under his breath and got up. He took the map from her and folded it back up again. She didn’t say anything as he left the room, once more closing the door softly behind himself. Ash put her feet up on the bed and stretched out. After she rested for a moment, she’d see about getting ready for bed.

It was how she fell asleep ten minutes later.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The sky was a bit overcast, sullen looking grey clouds travelling across the blue expanse. The past week had been quiet. They still hadn’t heard back from Roberta yet. The last of Ash’s tattoos were done, nestled just underneath and following the curve of her collarbone. He’d spent his time in the library most of the day and a bit of time in the evening after dinner in the chapel. When he’d found Ash in the refectory this morning, eating breakfast she had convinced him that they should go outside. Apparently she heard from someone that the site of the Winchester’s Ascension was within walking distance.

So here they were in midmorning, walking along a barely visible trail through a wood, looking for a site. Ash was looking fairly excited but Michael couldn’t help but feel a bit of apprehension. The last few times they’d come to places like this, something had happened.

“You coming or what?”

Michael looked at Ash to see she’d hurried up the path and was waiting for him. The cloak on her arm twitched as she fidgeted with her hands underneath it. He held up the sack containing their lunch. At least he’d stopped by the kitchens to see if they could get something to go. And he’d lucked out.

“I’m not crushing my gooseberry tarts, or your blackberry ones.”

Ash snorted. “I think we’re almost there anyway. Smell that?”

She took a deep breath, eyes closed and a smile on her face. Michael breathed deeply and he could smell that peculiar mix of plants and what could only be described as water. With a roll of his eyes, he hurried his steps. Ash was right though. Five minutes later and they came to a small glen. The trees were still in close, but it was a comfortable enough spot. The river was visible now in the tree gap, the dark brown waters swirling with the current.

Michael looked around and spotted the wooden crosses at the very end of the glen. The vines weren’t growing anywhere else. It was a grapevine again, the fruit heavy and looking just ripe. He looked around once more. The trees were growing in thick, the undergrowth full of saplings, leaf litter and other various plants. But this area had nothing but grass and one particular spot of vines. Ash didn’t seemed bothered by this sudden break in forest. She’d walked right into the glen, was walking right up to the crosses. Michael hurried forward. Maybe sitting right by what was basically a grave marker wasn’t the best idea.

But Ash had deftly snapped out the cloak, settled it on the ground and plunked herself on it before Michael could even really voice any objection. He stopped in front of her, trying to think of a tactful way to word it.

“We could sit and eat lunch somewhere else,” Michael gestured to the crosses. “I mean…”

“I’m not passing up on perfectly good grapes.” As if to illustrate her point, Ash drew her knife and cut free a small bunch from the woody vine stem. She popped one into her mouth and said as she chewed, “They’re really good.”

Michael pulled a face but sat down, gently resting the sack on the ground. Lunch was quickly pulled out from the sack and they ate leisurely. The loaf of bread, cold duck, greens and tarts disappeared in short order. Ash had stretched out on the cloak and was lazily reaching up and picking grapes off the vine-covered cross closest to her. She rubbed them against her shirt before eating them. That was kind of gross in Michael’s opinion. There had been bodies here at some point and –

“What?” He asked as Ash started laughing.

“Every time I eat one you look like I might as well be eating a hunk of flesh. I’m not Hannibal Lecter, you know.”

Michael shuddered at that. There was a Halloween story he hated. And every year, Ash told it to him without fail. Ash ate a few more grapes before she sat up, watching him.

“They died here but they weren’t buried.” She sliced off another bunch of grapes. “Sure you don’t want one?”

“No,” Michael shook his head. “And how can you not bury a body?”

Ash ate a few more grapes before she said matter-of-factly, “You can’t bury a body if there isn’t one.”

“Is this going to turn into another fish pee argument?” Michael demanded after staring at her for a few minutes.

“No. It’s going to turn into me finishing off this story,” Ash laid back down, shifting until she was comfortable. “So, Michael has finally killed Lucifer…”

__________________________________________________________________________

 _Dean was sure that Sam had died back in Detroit. That he would never see his brother again. But there he was, filthy, bloodied, **dying** , with an angelic sword running him through. His breathing was slow and steady but shallow. When Sam smiled, his teeth were stained crimson from blood and Dean felt the grief rise through him. Michael was at the end of his rope now and there’s nothing that he could do for Sam._

 _Michael was apologetic, hadn’t realised Lucifer had kept Sam Winchester’s soul tethered to him somehow. Dean wasn’t surprised; that’s just the sort of thing that Lucifer would have done. But he wanted to speak to Sam for a little bit before he… before he…_

 _That caused some apprehension in Michael. The wounds sustained during fighting were fatal. There’s no healing Dean of them. Dean honestly didn’t give a flying shit at this point._

 _When Michael relinquished control, the pain was bad. Or rather, the distinct lack of it. It felt like a dull buzz at the back of Dean’s mind. Dean wasn’t too sure if Michael was shielding him from it or not, a small gesture of some gratitude or such or if it was so bad that his body was well past the stage of shock. He looked down and spoke._

 _“Sammy?” his voice sounded like it’s barely there._

 _“Dean?” Sam’s voice was a low whisper, incredulous and pained. “Fuck, Dean.”_

 _The tears started streaking down Sam’s face and soon enough there’s tracks of skin seen through the dirt. Dean gripped the sword tighter as his side throbbed but he didn’t feel anything. If he didn’t look at it, he wouldn’t have to see the ruins of his guts hanging free._

 _“You’re such… a girl, Samantha.” Dean managed._

 _Sam laughed at that but ended up coughing. Dark, fine ribbons of blood landed on his chin and he breathed heavily. “I don’t ever… recommend grabbing hold… of the Devil. My soul feels burnt.”_

 _There was a feeling of pure surprise coming from Michael. Dean wasn’t so much. Count on Sam to do something insane like that. But that had probably been his last ditch effort that he figured wouldn’t work. That it did… Then Michael was back, asking to be in control once more. Dean let him, slipping back into the role of passenger._

 _Michael sat up a little bit straighter. **“Samuel, do you recall anything of Lucifer’s plans?”**_

 _“All of it,” Sam’s expression was bitter now. “He changed the…”_

 _Sam broke off into another round of coughing, more blood spattering on his face. Michael pressed a hand against Sam’s forehead. There wasn’t even a flinch from Sam._

 _  
**“You do not need to speak. Just let me see, if you will.”**   
_

_Sam didn’t say anything just nodded his head. The images flooded in fast and furious now. The Croatoan virus had been changed, mutated somehow by Pestilence. Even now, people were being infected, were fighting off the infected. It would continue on for awhile, but people still lived. Had Famine been raised, Lucifer might have completely succeeded. And if he had succeeded, the eradication of humanity was just the first step. Demons would have been next, the filthy things he created in a fit of rage against their Father. But Lucifer had plans to do better the second time around. Their Father would probably have created humanity anew, leading them back to the same place once more. Lucifer would have created something else to inhabit this planet, something much worthier than humans._

 _Michael drew back and spoke. **“You have a brave soul, Samuel Winchester.”**_

 _“Yeah, well…” Sam might as well have shrugged._

 _Dean could sense Michael’s awe at such humility. He never figured what Michael offered next. **“I can try to heal you and –”**_

 _“No. Don’t fix me.” Sam fell quiet for a moment. “Break the cycle now, for good.”_

 _Michael seemed saddened by this, but Dean figured Sam was probably right. They’d fought and died for each other so much. And every time they did, it went from bad to worse to the goddamn fucking Apocalypse. Maybe if they died and stayed dead this time, it would be enough. They’d die, they’d be buried and there would be no damned bodies for them to come back to. No resurrection, no nothing. It would all finally just be over._

 _ **“You are sure?”** Michael asked, and Dean knew he was asking it of the both of them._

 _“Yes.” Sam whispered._

 _Dean knew he’d miss pie and sex, but he was damned sure. End it now. He didn’t care if it made him weak or such. All he knew was that if he’d have to live with that gaping emptiness inside of him… it would kill him more painfully than he would die now. He’d happily take this relatively quick death, hands down. Michael moved, drawing the sword out of Sam. All Sam did was grunt, his expression contorting with pain for a moment. Michael laid the length of metal on the ground._

 _  
**“Very well, and thank you.”**   
_

_Michael slipped out as gently as he came and then Dean’s back in his body completely, just him. Everything felt fuzzy like it’d been glossed over and now it’s tipping over. With no sword to prop him up, Dean just fell over. He tried to move his arms to prop himself up. They hit the ground and gave out on him. He landed heavily on top of Sam. He only just managed to keep his head from banging against Sam’s. He had turned his neck, and his head landed beside Sam’s._

 _“You weigh a ton.” That was all Sam said._

 _Dean wanted to move, he did. But his body was not co-operating with him. It felt like it was weighed down and immobile. The gaping hole at his side, there’s an ominous coldness radiating out from it. He breathed in slowly, trying to make his brain co-operate with him._

 _“Dean?”_

 _“… I don’t think I have long, Sammy.”_

 _There’s silence at that for a moment and then there’s a hand on his shoulders and Sam’s buried his face against Dean’s hair. Sam’s wet cheek was against his ear and all Dean really wanted to do was just close his eyes and take a nice long fucking nap. The coldness felt like it was everywhere in his body now. He started to close his eyes but Sam spoke._

 _“Dean?”_

 _Sam’s voice sounded faint but he blinked, focusing on the question. Now everything seemed washed out, like it’s fading to nothing right before his eyes._

 _“Imma take a nap.” The words were slurred and sounded like they barely made sense._

 _“Okay,” Sam’s voice sounded choked up, like something was caught in his throat. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”_

 _“Hmm.”_

 _That’s all Dean had the energy to grunt as he breathed deeply. He felt Sam’s lips against his skin, a firm kiss pressed against the ridges of his ear as tightly as possible. He closed his eyes, feeling the faint whisper of Sam’s breath ruffle his hair slightly and it all faded out in a brilliant haze of light._

__________________________________________________________________________

The afternoon was winding down when Ash finally rolled over, sat up and asked Michael if he wanted to head back. They’d been walking for about ten minutes when Michael spoke.

“So why exactly do they call it Ascension?”

“Apparently the only people that risked coming to the area were Hunters. It’s said that Bobby Singer got someone to help him out and raced down here to find out what happened. They were searching for Sam and Dean when a flash of light went off. What they found was that spot,” she gestured back to where they had come from. “And two sets of bones with Enochian on them. What I have tattooed on me.”

She pulled at the neck of her shirt, showing the last of her scabbing tattoos.

“So they ascended to…?” Michael prompted.

“No one knows for sure. Some people say that God made them angels. Others say they went straight to Heaven.”

Michael watched her. “What do you think?”

“Me? I think they went straight to heaven. Dean’s up there having his fill of pie and sex while Sam’s off in some heavenly library doing his thing.” Ash glanced at him. “Something happened here. It couldn’t have been something bad though. At least, I don’t get that feeling.” There’s an oddly thoughtful look on Michael’s face. She gave him a moment before she prompted with, “You?”

“I don’t know really.” Michael was silent for a moment before he asked, “Want to come back tomorrow?”

“If you want to. Hey, do you think we can get some more tarts from Andy down in the kitchen?” Ash waggled her eyebrows.

The rest of the walk back to the Order building was quiet conversation about what supplies to get and how much more travelling could be done before winter came. It felt weird to think that it was now September and winter was about two months away. They’d have to find a massive amount of supplies and find somewhere to hole up. Going back home, well there was the Canyon to consider. Just travelling up to the closest part to cross it would take three weeks from here. By the time they got home, it would be about a month and a half. That wouldn’t leave very much time to prepare for winter.

The topic of winter stretched through to dinner time and well into the night before Ash went to her own room, stripped down to her underwear and crawled into bed. She fully expected to sleep through the night, even though she dreamed of blizzards and a land covered in white and ice.

She couldn’t say what it was that woke her up. It must have been the middle of the night but every fibre of her being was up, alert and expecting something. Her hand slid underneath her pillow to grasp her knife. On her second day here, she discovered that a brother was actually an ordained priest. She hadn’t wasted a single moment and gotten all of her and Michael’s weapons blessed.

She lay there in the dark, her hand on the knife, unsure if it was just her or something was going to happen. Then the gentle knock on the door came once more. Swearing, she draped the blankets around her and tucked the knife in under a fold.

“Fuck it, man,” she swore as her feet touched the cold stone floor and she hurried to the door. “This had better be an emergency.”

She opened it a bit, the flickering light from the lamps making her blink. There was a tall man standing there, wearing brown robes. There’s a placid look on his face and Ash squinted at him as her eyes adjusted to the light. Maybe it’s just her, but he kind of looked a bit like her grandfather, Samuel Kozel. He had the same hazel eyes, but no square jaw, cleft chin and broad forehead. She pulled the blankets in closer around her, blinking.

It occurred to her to be polite but it’s also a ridiculous hour. That she was sure of. “What?”

“Do you have a moment?”

Ash raised an eyebrow at that. “What’s your name? Christo?”

“Torin actually,” the man shrugged. “I won’t take very long.”

“So get to it.” Ash grumbled.

Torin reached for something underneath his robe and pulled it free from his neck. It was a necklace. There was a small face, with bull horns protruding from the forehead. There’s a strange triangle on the forehead. She started as he leaned in closer to her but he stopped. Her grip on the knife shifted.

“This is for you.” He said simply.

Ash made a ‘tch’ sound. “And I should accept it why?”

“It’s a protection amulet,” Torin held it out to her. “Someone does want you to have it.”

“Fine,” Ash rolled her eyes. Torin slipped it over her head. “Just tell Roberta we’re kind of wondering when we’ll get some answers. Michael and I need to make some decisions soon.”

Torin’s lips curled into a smirk. “I’ll let her know.”

“So this thing,” Ash wormed her free hand out from the blankets and pulled at the worn leather cord. “Protection, huh?”

“Yes. It protected me lots of times,” Torin paused. “And there are some things that should stay in families.”

That took Ash by surprise. Was she actually related to this guy somehow? “What the hell does that mean?” she demanded.

Torin looked like he wanted to say something. But then something flickered across his face and he just said, “Have a good night.”

Ash frowned as Torin walked away. She watched him go until he turned the corner and vanished from her sight. She stepped back into her dark room and closed the door behind her. It didn’t take long to stash the knife back under the pillow and fix the blankets before getting back into bed. She lay there, playing with the necklace, feeling the bumps of its face and the smooth surface of the back.

It took her awhile to fall back asleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Michael couldn’t find Ash.

It hadn’t been such a big deal in the morning. After he got dressed and ready, he went to the refectory for breakfast. He was honestly surprised to not see Ash there. He gulped down some porridge and tea and went to the kitchens. Nobody there had seen her, and it was the same thing at the library when he asked there. It was the same thing with the garden as well. There was just one other place he would look before heading over to the river.

The chapel was honestly the last place he would ever think to look for her. The only times she ever really came to the chapel, it was to find him for something.

As he approached, he could see the door open a bit. He peered in and there was Ash sitting on a pew. Michael slipped in, closing the door behind him. She was absorbed in something and he didn’t see what until he sat down beside her. There was an amulet in her hand and she was turning it over and over. The cord was wrapped loosely around her wrist.

“Hey.”

Ash looked up, startled a bit to see him. “What time is it?”

“Morning,” Michael took in the rings under her eyes. “You’ve been here all night.”

“Guess so,” Ash held up the amulet. “Someone named Torin dropped this off for me in the middle of the night. I asked around. There’s no one here by that name. And there’s never been anyone in the town by the name of Emul,”

Michael didn’t say anything as Ash went back to fiddling with the amulet.

“And this painting, God, _this_ painting… anyone in it look familiar, Michael?”

“Ash, it’s a painting and –”

The door creaked open and was followed by, “Ah, here you two are.”

He looked over the tops of the pews to see the same acolyte from a week ago. “Yes?”

“Roberta would like to talk to you both.”

“We’ll be there in a moment. Thank you.” The acolyte nodded and withdrew. Michael turned back to Ash. “I’m apparently missing something.”

“Look at the man with the black eyes in the painting.”

  


Michael still didn’t see what she was talking about. He stared at the painting and nothing was coming to him. The man with the black eyes looked like he was just waiting, ready to do whatever was needed. The other man, with his head bent and hands pressed together in prayer bothered him a little bit. Ash sighed heavily and got up.

“I think he looks a bit like Emul.” Ash shrugged. “If you shaved off Emul’s beard, any bet, that’s what he’d look like.”

Michael blinked and squinted at the picture. He still didn’t see it. He got up and walked with Ash from the chapel. She still had the amulet in her hand and by the time they reached Roberta’s study, Ash had it bunched up and inside a fist. He didn’t say anything though. He just knocked on the door and opened it for them to go in when he heard an ‘Enter.’ When they were inside though, Roberta said something that honestly made him worry a little bit.

“Lock the door.”

He looked down, seeing the thick sturdy latch bolt. After he slid it shut he walked over to where Ash was standing. She looked anxious almost, like some sort of restlessness had settled down on her and she couldn’t sit. Roberta looked at them for a moment before she got up from her desk and walked over to a table by a doorway in the room.

“Come with me for a moment.”

Whatever this new development was, Michael had a feeling that it couldn’t possibly be good. Ash hadn’t moved and they watched as Roberta lit a small candle and opened the door.

“Well, come on. I haven’t got all day you know.”

Ash swallowed and Michael grasped her free hand. Confusion, hesitation… she didn’t know if she actually wanted to know now. He tightened his grip and she did the same before slipping her hand from his. Silence came as they followed Roberta through the doorway and down a flight of stairs. The stairwell was dark and the only sound was of them breathing and the flickering of the candle. They came to another door, one that was heavy and made of a solid piece of metal. Roberta slid back the bolt and pulled. It opened with a creak and the smell of paper greeted Michael’s nose.

Roberta stepped inside, motioning for them to follow her. Given that she was carrying the only available source of light, Michael and Ash did just that.

“Give me a moment.”

After a few seconds, Roberta’s words were followed by the blossoming of more flames from the darkness. Before long the entire room was lit by sheltered lamps on the wall. The room was crammed full of papers except for one wall. There was another painting there, practically glowing in the lamplight. Ash swore softly under her breath as she saw it. Roberta didn’t hear it though since she started talking.

“There are two kinds of Hunters. Those who think they’re Hunters and those who know what it’s about.” Roberta blew out her candle and looked at them. “Do you know why the Order has paintings at the pilgrimage buildings?”

“You want to know who is paying attention.” Michael said. Ash’s attention was still captured by the painting on the wall.

Roberta nodded her head. “And what did you think of the paintings?”

“I think that they serve their purpose well,” Michael said carefully. “Not everything is as black and white as some would want it to be. There’s always something to consider, something that might be using you for its own ends.”

“And you?” Roberta asked as she turned her attention to Ash.

Ash spared her a glance before looking back at the painting. “Who the hell is that man?”

Michael looked over to see her pointing at the man who was standing, looking off into the distance. Roberta didn’t answer Ash’s question right away though.

“There’s one other book by the prophet Chuck. It’s not out there because when Bobby discovered its existence after the Apocalypse, he sent out every Hunter he could to collect them. This was back in 2025, a few years after the Apocalypse. It was a book of prophecies,”

That caught his, and Ash’s, attention. They both looked at her now.

“Nice to see you’re actually paying attention now, Joanna,” Roberta’s voice was a bit withering as she picked up a slim box.

Ash pulled a face but didn’t say anything.

“But events as prophesied by Chuck Shurley are turning out a little bit differently. There is one last prophecy in the book that was to come to pass. I think it’s about the two of you.”

Ash’s bark of laughter was sharp and echoed in the room, “A prophecy about us? Right, and I’m Nostradamus.”

“At the dawn of the 24th century,” Roberta started, “Shall the Destroyer begin to rise. Leviathan shall swim up from the deepest pit of the ocean, the wings of Ziz will blot the sun from the sky and from his womb of Earth shall Behemoth stir. Left unchecked, Abaddon shall have dominion over them. Then, the blood of the Ascended and the Rebel will have met and embark upon the start of the eventual end. ”

He couldn’t explain it, but Michael felt something down to his bones telling him that this was true. He looked over at Ash and there was a serious look on her face, so much for her levity. Roberta looked between them and asked something else that chilled him.

“Ever notice the predominance of Hunters in Lawrence?” Roberta looked at Michael again. “We were asked to look out for the Winchester family.”

Anger wasn’t something Michael was used to, but the idea of people spying on his family for who knew how many generations… “Who told you to do that?”

Roberta opened the box and pulled out a small square in a strange clear bag. All she said was, “Castiel Winchester” as she handed it to Michael.

He took it and was surprised to see a startlingly clear image on the square. There were the same blue eyes, scruffy shadow, tan coat with black pants and a white shirt. He bit his tongue, not saying anything. He was looking at Lawrence, from that day just outside of Lazarus. It was all exactly the same. Suddenly there was a sharp inhalation from beside him. He looked over to see Ash. Her face looked pale now, as if all the blood had drained from it. She was also holding a photo in her hand. There were two men, sitting on some strange thing on wheels. One was tall, sitting on the edge and his feet planted squarely on the ground. His hair was long and tucked behind his ears and…

Damn it, Ash was right. Without the beard, it _was_ Emul. He didn’t know who the other man was but he was wearing an amulet around his neck. It was the exactly same amulet that Ash had in her clenched fist.

“Those,” Roberta’s voice is quiet. “Are the only pictures that the Order possesses of the angel Castiel and of the brothers Sam and Dean Winchester.”

“Wait, last time I checked angels don’t get to have kids.” Ash waggled the photo in her hand. “And the Winchester Gospel doesn’t mention either one of them having kids.”

Roberta raised both eyebrows. “‘And so did Sam seek sanctuary elsewhere as his brother Dean lay with the Doublemint Twins.’ I could go on. Just because it’s not mentioned in the gospel doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Lots of things get left out of stories.”

“But Castiel,” Michael finally spoke. “It’s like Ash said, angels don’t get to have kids.”

“According to Bobby’s journal, Castiel received special dispensation from God for his faith and trials. He was allowed to become human for a bit. He first settled down in Kripke’s Hollow but elected to move to Lawrence a bit afterwards.”

“You mean to tell me,” Ash’s voice sounded strained. “That God let an angel become human and then he settled down with some girl and had a whole bunch of kids?”

“I know how that sounds, but essentially yes. We don’t have a record of the name of the woman Castiel Winchester married. We just know her surname was Breckenridge.”

Michael was starting to feel a little bit weird now. He could remember his paternal grandfather saying that his grandfather’s name had been Brecken. He kept his mouth shut though and looked back at Ash’s photo. He looked at the man with the amulet around his neck and he couldn’t deny that the resemblance was uncanny. Ash looked like a female version of that man, plain and simple.

Ash was looking at the photo in his hand and staring at him so hard that Michael figured the same spitting resemblance between him and Lawrence, no, him and Castiel was quite obvious as well. Roberta gestured to the painting now.

  


“Dean and Sam ascended. The only confirmation we have of this is in Bobby Singer’s journal. Mithraiel,” Roberta pointed to Dean and then pointed to Sam. “And Shemuiel. Apparently, they came to him in a dream one night. Bobby worried about a lot of things, Sam and Dean especially.”

“Why? Were they like sons to him?” Ash asked.

“In a way, but because sometimes they did some spectacularly stupid things,” Roberta shrugged as she looked at Ash. “The two attempts on your life might have something to do with the fact that you’re their descendant.”

Ash stiffened and Michael stepped in closer to her.

“I don’t know what type of demon tried to poison you with its blood. I can only assume it was some new kind that Abaddon cooked up in the Pit. And as for Sheol trying to make you into a vampire snack, that was probably their second attempt to circumvent the prophecy. Maybe the demons should have read the saga of Harry Potter.”

It took Michael by surprise but he managed to stifle his laughter. He was glad he did because it just might have sounded borderline hysterical. This whole thing seemed a bit fantastical, but the evidence stating otherwise was staring at him right in the face. He stared at the picture of Castiel in his hand, its protective bag slippery against his fingers. After a moment, he handed it back to Roberta. Ash did the same and the pictures were tucked back into the box and locked away.

Ash turned to look at him before uttering, “Holy shit.”

Michael thought that was a pretty good summation of how he was feeling at the moment. Roberta watched them for a few minutes.

“Do you two still want to do it? Become Hunters?”

Roberta’s question hung in the air like a pivot point. Michael looked over at Ash and saw that she had already made her decision. The resolve was there in her eyes. For a moment, he thought that this would be the perfect chance to pull out from all this insanity. But he was part of it. Even his family was, even though they didn’t realise it. And maybe leaving them with that armour of ignorance would help keep them safe. Michael was already exposed to the supernatural things, to demons that probably wanted to take a piece out of him and this Abaddon.

He couldn’t and wouldn’t bring that back home with him.

Ash must have realised what his decision was. She gave him a smile and turned to look at Roberta. “We do.”

Roberta looked at them for a moment before she nodded her head. “All right. If you kneel, I’ll perform the Hunter’s blessing.”

They knelt and Roberta placed her hands on their shoulders. Her voice was soft and low, the Latin coming quickly and precisely. Michael only had a vague idea of what she was saying, asking something of God and the Heavenly host. There was something else about blades and, if he heard the verb correctly, having them aim true and kill some kind of enemy. He’d have to ask Ash later.

It only took about two, three minutes tops.

When she stepped back, Roberta looked thoughtful. “If you like, you can spend the winter here. I know it’s a bit soon but just think about it. You two want a moment?”

“Yeah,” Ash seized on that pretty quickly.

“I’ll be waiting upstairs. Out the lamps when you’re done.” Roberta left the small room quickly.

Michael glanced back, hearing the shuffle of her feet on the stone steps. Then he looked back at Ash. She was looking at the painting again.

“That was Torin. I swear to God,” Ash fell silent for a second before she spoke again. “Fuck, he almost looks so much like my Gramps.”

Even Michael had to admit, the resemblance was there. Samuel Kozel had looked almost like Dean Winchester or rather Mithraiel now. Michael wasn’t too sure. Theology wasn’t something he ever aspired to be good at. He rubbed at his forehead and took a deep breath.

“Hey, at least your grandfather, who knows how many times back, wasn’t an _angel_.”

Ash snorted. “Hey, do you think you might have super-powers of some kind? Can you fly, like Superman? Have you been holding out on me?”

“Ugh, that’s not even funny.” Michael looked at the painting for a bit now. “So what are we going to do about this?”

“Do?” Ash repeated. “What can we do? Call it fatalistic, but how would you go about changing any of this? How do you know doing that, in and of itself, won’t set off something? Unless you’re going to go tromping up into Heaven and demand that God change things, it is what it is.”

Michael stared at her for a long moment. “You seriously have no excuse for leaving school.”

“I do. I couldn’t stand that pretentious teacher. Good thing I did too… missed all that weird stuff about viruses and who knows what else.”

Michael laughed at that. “We’ve seen vampires, werewolves and demons and you think a _virus_ , something so tiny we can’t see it, is weird.”

Ash shrugged. “Hey, I deal with what I see.”

“Right.” Michael drawled.

“Besides,” Ash elbowed him. “We’ve got each other. Nothing is going to happen to us. Everything will work out, you’ll see.”

A smile came to Michael’s face as they looked back at the painting. If there was anything he had faith in, it was definitely that.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There was a crisp morning bite to the air that Ash enjoyed. Fall, in all of its brief glory, was coming soon. The day was still early and after two weeks of debating, they decided to spend the winter here in Ascension. Given how late it was by the time they decided, there wasn’t much point in trying to travel. They’d get caught by the first snows before they even reached any sort of sizable town.

Roberta had seen them set up in more comfortable quarters complete with a desk and chair. It wasn’t uncommon for Ash to have to drag Michael away from his sheaf of papers in order to actually get some sun and exercise.

This morning they were bypassing the village of Ascension and taking the most direct route to the nearest town. About five days travel, round trip. She glanced back, the sun catching in her eye. Michael’s face was obscured by the sun’s glare.

“What’s wrong _now_?” she asked.

“I’m pretty sure I forgot something.” Michael frowned. “And we still need to get some salt.”

Ash snorted at that. All this time and all those towns and they _still_ hadn’t bought the damned stuff. “We’ll pick some up when we get to Ravenwood.”

“What do you think I forgot?” Michael looked at her.

Ash shrugged. “Your testicles?”

“It’s not funny.” Michael scowled.

Ash shrugged. Even before they’d started out on this errand, Michael was acting kind of funny. She found it vastly amusing that Michael was trying to not complain but really wanted to stay behind with his nose buried in books. She rubbed Zeppelin’s neck affectionately as the horse trotted along. The forest was thinning out, stretches of grass ahead of them. Once they found a nice flat stretch, she’d let him have a good run. Taking him out for quick jaunts in the past two weeks hadn’t been enough. A restless horse wasn’t a happy horse. She’d have to remember to take him out regularly in the winter too. The lay of the land was quickly becoming familiar to her.

“Ash!”

Michael’s exclamation made her look back at him with raised eyebrows, “Yeah?”

“Did you hear anything of what I just said?”

Ash shrugged and nudged Zeppelin with her heels. The horse picked up his pace a bit. “Honestly, I didn’t,” she looked back at Michael and grinned. “For today, why don’t you just quit being such a whiney little bitch?”

Now Michael was spluttering behind her in frustration. The sooner that he got back to his books the better. The jangle of his tack was loud as he spurred Impala to catch up and when he yelled at her, she managed to just not laugh out loud.

“Shut it, you jerk!”

________________________________________________________________________________________________


End file.
